PINE  AND  PAL 


HENRY  HOLT 


OCTOBER,  1887. 

THE  LEISURE-HOUR  SERIES., 

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THE  REVOLT  OF  MAN. 
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Miss  MOLLY. 


GHRALDINE  HAWTHORNE. 
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LEISURE-HOUR   SERIES. 


MARTIN,  E.   O. 

WHOM  GOD  HATH  JOINS 
MAXWELL,,   CJECI. 

A  STORY  OF  THREE  SISTI 
MISS  BAYLE'S 

ROMANCE. 
MOLES  WORTH, Mr» 

HATHERCOURT. 

MOORE,  THOMAS. 

NORRIS,  W.  E. 

MATRIMONY. 
HEAPS  OF  MONEY. 
No  NEW  THING. 
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PLAYS       FOR     PRI- 
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MY  LITTLE  LADY. 
ERSII.IA. 

AMONG  THE  HILLS. 
MADAME  DE  PRESNEL. 

RICHARDSON,  S. 
CLARISSA  HARLOWR,    (O«- 
denstd.) 

RICHTER.  J.  P.  F. 

FLOWER.FRUIT.AND  THORN- 
PIECES.     2  VOIS. 
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HFSPKRUS.    2  vols. 

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SCHMID,  H. 

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SHAKESPEARE,  W. 

COMPLETE  WORKS.   7  vols. 

SIME,  WM. 

THE  RED  ROUTE. 

SLIP  in  the  FENS.  A. 

SMITH.  H.  and  J. 

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THE  AMBER  GODS. 

AZARIAN. 

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NEW  ARABIAN  NIGHTS. 
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MY  FRIF.NDS  AND  I. 
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EARLY  AND  LATE  PAPERS. 


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ON  THE  EVE. 
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CECIL  DREEME,  w/.  Portrait. 
CANOE  AND  SADDLE. 
JOHN  BRENT. 
EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 
LIFE  IN  THE  OPPN  AIR. 

WYLDE,  Katharine. 
A  DREAMER. 
AN  ILL-REGULATED  MIND. 

YESTERDAY. 


THE  LEISURE-HOUR  SHAKESPEARE. 

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scenes  are  on  the  wild  Nova  Scotia  coast  and  in  New  York  society. 

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LEISURE  HOUR  SERIES.— No.  207. 


PINE  AND  PALM 


A  NOVEL 


BY 

MONCURE  D.  CONWAY 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 
1887. 


COPYRIGHT,  1887, 

BY 
HENRY  HOLT  &  CO. 


Press  W.  L.  Mershon  &  Co., 
Rahway,  N.  J. 


DEDICATED 


MY  WIFE. 


M57407 


PINE  AND  PALM. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   COURT    IN    DANE    HALL. 

A  MERICANS  whose  memories  stretch  vividly 
IJL  across  one  generation  bear  with  them  the  im- 
press of  a  period  when  the  United  States  Senate  was 
aglow  with  splendors  of  eloquence  since  visible  as 
writings  of  flame  on  its  walls.  As  the  century  neared 
its  noon  the  agitation  which  had  burthened  every 
hour  of  its  history  was  rapidly  reaching  its  crisis. 
Northern  Abraham  and  Southern  Lot  were  awaiting 
the  stroke  of  an  hour  which  must  part  them,  because 
"  the  land  was  not  able  to  bear  them  that  they  might 
dwell  together."  But  between  the  two  stood  certain 
Senators,  grown  gray  in  defense  of  the  Union,  to 
whom  it  had  become  an  idol.  They  were  so  willing 
to  sacrifice  themselves  before  it  that  they  could  not 
conceive  how  any  interest  or  sentiment  should  be 
raised  above  its  priceless  integrity.  On  that  altar 
Webster  was  laying  enthusiasms  of  Young  Massachu- 
setts ;  and  Clay  tottered  up  the  steps  of  the  Capitol  to 
Utter  those  seventy  speeches  which  summoned  the 


2  PINE  AND   PALM. 

country  to  the  last  compromise  that  consoled  his 
dying  eyes  with  its  delusive  victory. 

It  was  not  many  years  after  this  debate  that  the 

irrepressible  question  was  causing  excitement  in  the 

small     world     of     Harvard    University.       However 

small  this  scholastic  arena,  a  political  prophet  might 

watch  the  discussions  :among  young  men  unawed  by 

co&.iiiuencfes  v^rfi  ^pener  anxiety  than  the  debates 

^at  Washington  ;  fox  theSe.were  senators  of  the  future, 

:;ajJ<J'''tsjkteV*oT:  ih^tf '"dispute  studies  of  to-morrow's 

history. 

In  the  Moot  Court,  where  fledgling  lawyers  plumed 
their  casuistic  wings  on  the  interminable  issues  'twixt 
John  Doe  and  Richard  Roe,  political  questions  had 
been  avoided  ;  but  on  one  occasion,  in  the  absence  of 
the  vigilant  head  of  the  school,  Judge  Minott,  a  case 
in  constitutional  law  led  to  a  point  affecting  slavery, 
and  a  perilous  controversy  was  sprung  on  the 
assembly. 

The  ablest  southerner  in  the  law  school  was  Ran- 
dolph Stirling  of  Virginia.  His  father,  Judge  Stirling, 
had  scandalized  some  of  his  neighbors  by  intrusting 
his  son  to  a  northern  university ;  and  indeed  the 
judge  himself,  though  he  had  not  with  the  younger 
generation  outgrown  the  anti-slavery  traditions  of 
Virginia,  sometimes  wondered  at  his  own  eccen- 
tricity in  this  matter.  His  misgivings  had  always 
ended  in  reverie  over  an  episode  in  his  life  remem- 
bered with  a  satisfaction  almost  poetic.  A  good 
many  years  before,  Richard  Stirling,  recognized 
head  of  the  Fauquier  Bar,  while  examining  certain 
documents  of  the  Supreme  Court  at  Washington,  met 


THE   COURT  IN  DANE  HALL.  3 

there  Mr.  Russell  Minott  of  Msasachusetts,  similarly 
employed.  So  many  pleasant  conversations  passed 
between  these  two  gentlemen  that  they  fairly  fell  in 
love  with  each  other.  They  secured  adjacent  rooms, 
walked  arm-in-arm  to  the  library  of  the  court,  and 
passed  their  evenings  in  the  same  sitting-room.  The 
Boston  lawyer  listened  with  delight  while  the  Virginian 
evoked  from  southern  court  rooms,  barbacues,  and  the 
like,  a  procession  of  droll  and  pathetic  figures  ;  the 
Virginian  laughed,  till  waiters  paused  in  the  corridor, 
or  again  he  listened  like  a  spellbound  child,  as  this 
new  friend  told  his  stories  of  "down  east."  Fine 
law  points  were  discussed  between  them,  and  valuable 
suggestions  interchanged  concerning  the  cases  that 
had  brought  them  to  Washington.  When  at  length 
they  had  to  part,  two  facts  remained  thenceforth 
established — that  Richard  Stirling  was  "  the  truest 
gentleman  in  the  world,"  and  Russell  Minott  "the 
finest  legal  mind  in  the  United  States,  yes,  sir,  the 
very  finest." 

But  neither  of  these  simple-hearted  gentlemen 
knew  how  much  provincialism  had  slipped  away  from 
him  during  that  brief  sojourn  together.  For 
the  Virginian  especially  the  experience  was  fruitful. 
It  must  be  admitted  that  hitherto  Richard  Stirling's 
map  of  his  country  had  held  a  small  Arctic  space 
called  u  Yankeeland  "  marked  with  chimeras  bearing 
the  names  of  violent  disunionists  ;  but  now  that  region 
was  populous  with  Minotts  ;  and  when  his  old  friend 
became  Dean  of  Harvard  Law  School  he  resolved  to 
send  to  that  institution  his  eldest  son,  just  graduated 
at  the  University  of  Virginia.  Neighbors  shook  their 


4  PINE  AND  PALM. 

heads,  but  the  judge  stuck  to  his  argument — "I 
know  the  head  of  that  school,  and  he  is  the  finest 
legal  mind  in  the  United  States,  yes,  sir,  the  very 
finest." 

"  But  what  if  Randolph  should  become  an  aboli- 
tionist ? " 

"  I  know  my  boy,  sir  :  he  may  have  faults,  but  dis- 
loyalty is  not  among  them ;  nor  is  idleness,  and 
Randolph  will  have  enough  to  occupy  him  without 
attending  to  crack-brained  fanatics." 

So  one  day  Randolph  left  the  Palms,  his  Fauquier 
home  ;  left  his  brother  Douglas,  grave  and  anxious, 
beside  their  two  weeping  sisters,  Gisela  and  Penelope, 
and  his  father  gazing  into  the  fire  where  a  tender  face 
shaped  itself  as  he  asked,  "  What  would  she  have 
said?" 

Judge  Minott  was  touched  by  his  friend's  confi- 
dence, and  when  he  first  looked  upon  Randolph  his 
heart  went  out  to  him.  The  youth  was  large  of  frame 
and  strong,  but  of  a  sensibility  almost  femi- 
nine, no  doubt  increased  by  care  for  his  sisters  since 
their  mother's  death  ;  in  his  speech  was  that  sweet- 
ness which  is  the  natural  accent  of  simplicity  and 
humility.  He  had  known  the  friendship  of  his  father  ; 
he  had  never  been  without  a  true  and  wise  man  to 
look  up  to  ;  and  now  he  sat  blushing  and  happy 
before  a  man  to  whom  his  father  looked  up.  When 
Mrs.  Minott  presently  wondered  that  so  prudent  a 
man  as  her  husband  could  insist  on  having  a  stranger 
in  the  house  for  a  week,  the  judge  confessed  he  had 
been  bewitched  by  the  youth,  and  only  begged 
that  his  further  reproof  might  be  deferred,  The 


THE    COURT  IN  DANE  HALL.  5 

reproof  never  came.     The  guest  was  soon  taken  to 
the  wise  lady's  heart. 

There  Stirling  first  met  a  law-student  regarded  as 
a  son  in  that  household.  This  was  Walter  Wentworth, 
the  only  representative  of  an  old  Boston  family.  His 
mother  had  died  by  an  accident,  and  his  father,  a  dry 
business  man,  had  soon  followed  her  to  the  grave, 
broken-hearted.  Walter,  too  young  to  know  his 
bereavement,  was  left  to  the  charge  of  his  maternal 
grandmother,  and  to  Judge  Minott  the  guardianship 
of  his  substantial  inheritance.  The  grandmother 
was  a  learned  lady  ;  she  had  herself,  mainly,  prepared 
him  for  college.  She  lived  to  witness  his  honorable 
graduation,  at  Harvard  College,  but  died  the  same 
year  ;  and  when  Walter  entered  the  law  school  he 
would  have  been  homeless  but  for  the  affectionate 
welcome  always  extended  to  him  by  the  Minotts — 
themselves  childless.  He  had  the  gravity  usual  in  young 
men  brought  up  among  elderly  and  literary  people. 
Though  not  deficient  in  humor,  he  smiled  rather  with 
his  eyes  than  his  mouth,  whose  firmness  suggested  a 
certain  retractile  element  in  his  generally  equable 
character.  There  had  been  through  his  undergradu- 
ate years  a  sort  of  "  Wentworth  cult "  in  the  college  ; 
when  he  was  speaking  his  young  admirers  saw 
laurels  crowning  the  fine  curve  of  his  head.  His 
reputation  as  "  a  thinker  "  was  transmitted  to  the  law 
school,  and  he  had  long  been  accorded  the  palm  for 
oratory.  The  Virginian  orators  had  not  prepared  Stirl- 
ing for  this  new  variety  of  eloquence,  at  once  pas- 
sionate and  restrained.  He  was  carried  away  by  the 
first  speech  he  heard  from  the  Bostonian,  and,  taking 


6  PINE  AND  PALM. 

his  hand,  silently  beamed  his  delight.  Wentworth 
became  his  hero. 

Stirling  also  had  a  reputation.  "  He  is  a  man 
of  genius,"  said  Wentworth  one  day,  and  his  opinion 
gained  currency.  When  Stirling  was  counsel,  the 
court  in  Dane  Hall  was  sure  to  be  crowded.  His 
speech  was  unique ;  he  so  merged  himself  in  his 
theory  that  his  gestures  became  quaintly  expressive, 
and  had  they  not  been  so  few  would  have  verged  on 
the  grotesque.  His  voice  was  melodious,  and  it  -used 
to  be  said  that  Stirling  could  draw  tears  for  the  basest 
of  sham  criminals. 

One  day  when  Mr.  Webster  visited  Cambridge,  and 
was  walking  through  the  Yard  with  Judge  Minott,  this 
proud  professor  pointed  to  his  two  distinguished  stu- 
dents, moving  arm-in-arm,  and  pleasantly  remarked 
that  when  those  young  men  entered  the  political  arena 
the  greatest  senators  would  have  to  look  to  their  laurels. 
Stirling  and  Wentworth  had  formed  a  warm  friend- 
ship, but  one  subject  was  suppressed  between  them. 
Wentworth  knew  that  his  friend's  family  were  slave- 
holders, and,  though  he  himself  represented  the 
awakening  of  the  university  to  the  new  radical  age, 
was  careful  not  to  say  any  thing  to  Randolph  on  that 
subject.  Perhaps  it  had  been  better  if  these  friends 
had  at  once  joined  issue  on  the  question  and  had  it 
out,  for  the  burning  question  could  not  be  repressed, 
and  at  length  blazed  up  between  them  with  consuming 
intensity. 

On  this  memorable  occasion  Stirling  had  submitted 
a  vigorous  argument  in  affirmation  of  the  national 
character  of  slavery,  and  garried  the  sympathies  of  a. 


THE   COURT  IN  DANE  HALL.  7 

majority  of  his  audience.  This  success  tempted  him  to 
lapse  into  something  like  a  stump-speech,  in  which  he 
denounced  as  "  pseud-philanthropy,"  the  spirit  of 
"  those  who,  overlooking  the  evils  of  northern  society 
— serfdom  of  labor  without  the  parental  care  enjoyed 
by  the  slave — must  needs  wander  South  and  mourn 
over  the  sins  of  other  people."  When  Wentworth 
rose  to  reply  he  felt  that  if  his  cause  were  not  upheld 
by  him  there  it  would  not  be  upheld  at  all, — for  anti- 
slavery  views  had  not  yet  made  much  progress  in  the 
university.  But  he  had  not  realized  how  much  he 
was  stung  by  that  phrase  "  pseud-philanthropy,"  until 
it  caused  his  artistic  instinct  to  fail  him.  He  began 
where  he  should  have  ended, — dealing  at  once  with 
Stirling's  stump  peroration  instead  of  with  his  argu- 
ment. For  this  he  never  forgave  himself.  Until  his 
unfortunate  retort  was  irrevocable,  Wentworth  never 
suspected  the  stormy  susceptibilities  that  lay  beneath 
his  own  equability,  and  his  admirers  were  amazed  by 
the  lightning  that  darted  from  the  eye  of  their  calm 
Apollo.  "  If,"  he  said,  with  an  unreal  appearance  of 
deliberation,  "  there  is  such  a  thing  as  pseud-philan- 
thropy, there  is  also  such  a  thing  as  lying  inhumanity, 
and  it  seems  exemplified  by  those  who,  after  living 
North,  can  compare  the  lot  of  its  free  laborer  with 
that  of  the  slave  who  sees  his  wife  and  child  sold  like 
cattle." 

On  the  utterance  of  these  words  a  Carolinian  sprang 
up  and  cried — "  Men  of  northern  manners  do  not 
know  that  among  gentlemen  the  lie  is  equal  to  a 
blow."  Then  the  whole  court  lost  its  calmness  ;  there 
was  vociferation  on  all  sides.  Wentworth  stood  still. 


8  PINE  AND  PALM. 

and  had  already  framed  an  apology,  when  the  terri- 
fied chairman  arose  and  declared  the  court  closed. 
Unable  in  the  hubbub  to  utter  his  apology,  Went- 
worth  hastened  to  Stirling  and  offered  his  hand,  but 
the  hand  was  thrust  away — it  was  almost  a  blow — 
and  Stirling  walked  out  of  the  room  followed  by  a 
train  of  excited  "  Southrons." 

That  evening  Wentworth  sat  in  his  room  revolving, 
as  it  were  a  wheel  of  torment,  the  thought  :  He  saw 
my  regret,  the  apology  on  my  lips,  my  hand  stretched 
out  ;  he  fairly  struck  it,  and  turned  on  his  heel.  Then 
memories  of  their  friendship  moved  him.  He  went 
to  his  window  and  looked  toward  that  of  Stirling  ;  it 
was  near  midnight,  but  a  light  was  burning  there,  and 
shadows  moved  on  the  curtain.  He  descended  the 
stairway,  went  over  to  the  door  and  gave  his  well- 
known  knock.  There  was  enough  movement  within 
to  add  a  sting  to  the  silence  with  which  his  knock  was 
received,  and  he  returned  to  a  painful  pillow. 

At  Wentworth's  knock  Stirling  had  started,  and 
had  he  followed  his  impulse  would  have  opened  his 
door  and  his  heart ;  but  with  him  were  several 
"  Southrons,"  and  behind  them  a  cloud  of  witnesses 
demanding  that  he  should  uphold  the  honor  of  his 
family,  of  his  State,  of  the  South.  Innumerable  voices 
commanded — challenge  him,  or  never  return  to  Vir- 
ginia ! 

"  Well,"  said  the  confused  youth,  "  I  suppose  it 
must  be  so,  but 

"  Suppose  !  "  shouted  Montgomery  of  Charleston  ; 
"  are  we  who  patronize  northern  colleges  working  on  a 
plantation  with  Yankee  whips  cracking  over  us  ? " 


COVRT  IN  DANE  HALL.  9 

V  Come  now,  Montgomery,"  said  Stirling,  "con- 
sidering the  region  we  come  from,  the  less  said  about 
cracking  whips  the  better.  However,  fellows,  I  put 
myself  in  your  hands  ;  write  what  you  all  think  nec- 
essary, I'll  copy  and  sign  it." 

"  Of  course  he'll  not  accept,"  said  Armistead  of 
Richmond. 

"  You  do  not  know  Wentworth  if  you  think  him 
wanting  in  courage,"  said  Stirling. 

While  four  southerners  were  framing  the  challenge 
Stirling  lay  on  a  sofa,  still,  but  torn  with  conflicting 
emotions.  At  length  the  conventional  challenge  was 
completed.  Stirling  copied  it  without  criticism — 
silently  and  mechanically — but  the  signature  was 
marred  with  a  blot. 

Stirling  vainly  tried  to  sleep  ;  whenever  he  was 
about  sinking  into  slumber  he  heard  three  familiar 
taps  at  his  door,  and  started  up  crying — "  Come  in, 
Wentworth  !  " 


CHAPTER  II. 

CHANGELINGS. 

ON  the  morrow  of  the  scene  in  Dane  Hall  a  council 
of  northern  students  sat  in  Wentworth's  room. 
Some  were  for  refusal  of  the  challenge  on  moral  and 
legal  grounds  ;  others  for  meeting  it  with  a  proposal 
for  arbitration  ;  but  the  majority  were  for  acceptance. 
It  was  not  the  first  time,  these  urged,  that  northern 
students  had  been  bullied  at  their  own  doors.  If, 
as  the  South  believed,  there  is  no  fight  in  a  Yankee, 
let  the  fact  be  frankly  acknowledged  and  southerners 
recognized  as  their  natural  masters  ;  if  the  fact  be 
otherwise,  the  sooner  that  is  known  the  better.  Had 
the  challenge  said  any  thing  about  apology  or  arbitra- 
tion that  would  be  another  matter,  but  it  simply 
demanded  a  fight.  Let  them  have  it  ! 

Had  Wentworth  been  able  to  postpone  the  decision 
for  a  few  days  his  advisers  might  have  reflected  that 
the  true  victory,  in  such  situation,  were  to  maintain 
their  civilization  against  relapse  into  the  barbarism  of 
single  combat.  But  he  had  not  time  to  consider  the 
novel  affair  in  all  its  bearings.  In  the  interest  of 
Stirling  and  himself  he  took  the  precaution  to  return 
the  challenge,  saying  that  he  must  decline  to  receive 
it  in  Massachusetts,  and  naming  an  evening  when  he 
would  be  at  the  Queen's  Hotel,  Montreal,  to  consider 
any  communication  that  might  be  sent. 


CHANGELINGS.  s  II 

When  Burgess  of  Rhode  Island  handed  back  to 
Stirling  his  challenge,  it  was  dashed  on  the  floor.  It 
flashed  through  the  Virginian's  mind  that  his  friend 
was  greater  than  he  thought,  that  he  had  bravely 
declined,  and  so  saved  them  both  from  these  agoniz- 
ing coils.  When  Wentworth's  verbal  reply  was  de- 
livered the  messenger  remarked  the  look  of  disap- 
pointment on  Stirling's  face.  "  There  was  no  trace 
of  fear,  but  a  look  as  if  he  had  heard  of  his  best 
friend's  death."  Poor  Stirling  had  indeed  lost  his 
hero. 

Then  he  began  to  "set  his  house  in  order."  He 
wrote  to  his  father  informing  him  of  the  circumstances 
under  which  he  was  about  to  meet  a  student  who  had 
insulted  himself  and  the  South.  He  should  inclose 
this  letter,  he  said,  with  souvenirs  for  his  sisters,  in 
one  to  Judge  Minott ;  and  though  he  could  not  in 
honor  allow  that  dear  friend  and  teacher — now  absent 
from  home — to  hear  of  this  unhappy  affair  for  a  few 
days,  he  had  written  to  him  some  expression  of  his 
affection.  Had  Stirling,  while  writing  this,  known 
how  Wentworth  was  occupied  at  the  same  moment, 
this  affair  might  have  been  brought  to  an  abrupt  end. 
With  no  near  relatives  of  his  own  to  consider,  Went- 
worth had  been  thinking  about  those  of  Stirling,  and 
wrote  to  Judge  Stirling  a  letter  of  the  most  consider- 
ate and  handsome  character,  to  be  posted  at  some 
sufficiently  distant  point  on  the  northward  journey. 
With  such  feelings  deep  in  their  hearts,  these  excel- 
lent fellows  started  for  Canadian  snows,  there  to 
exchange  shots  instead  of  their  usual  kindnesses. 

The  parties  took  their  seats  in  different  cars  to  be 


12  PINE  AND  PALM. 

borne  by  wings  of  civilization  to  their  medieval  ordeal. 
After  passing  Lowell,  Stirling  slipped  away  from  his 
two  friends  and  sat  alone  in  the  adjoining  car.  There, 
in  gloomy  reverie,  he  gazed  on  the  panorama  through 
which  he  was  passing.  The  snow-marbled  hills,  the 
trees  silvered  with  hoar  frost,  the  bright  houses,  the 
crystal  ponds  and  the  shining  Merrimac,  the  merry 
skaters,  how  beautiful  they  all  might  have  been — 
but,  ah,  how  frequent  seemed  the  village  cemeteries 
along  that  road  !  Near  one  station — it  was  Enfield 
— Stirling  remarked  a  pretty  group  of  girls  and  chil- 
dren descending  the  steps  of  a  terrace  with  a  lovely 
maiden ;  she  kissed  them  and  hurried  to  gain  the 
forward  car.  The  unhappy  youth  soon  forgot  the 
maiden  and  her  little  friends. 

Nevertheless  it  was  into  the  hand  of  that  casual 
maid  that  Stirling's  fate  quietly  passed  the  thread  of 
his  destiny.  She  happened  to  take  her  seat  imme- 
diately behind  his  seconds — no  other  being  near — 
and  those  two  were  exchanging  excited  whispers 
which  she  could  not  help  hearing,  and  which  filled 
her  with  terror. 

"Stirling  will  never  return  from  this  Montreal 
journey  alive.  Wentworth  is  a  sure  shot  and  will  cer- 
tainly kill  him." 

"  My  God,  I'm  afraid  it's  so.  I  almost  wish  the 
train  would  smash.  I  can  see  that  Stirling  feels 
himself  in  the  wrong  about  this  duel  too.  He  hates 
the  whole  thing." 

There  were  more  of  these  half  whispers,  and  they 
smote  the  girl's  ear  like  thunder.  She  felt  that 
she  ought  to  do  something.  The  responsibility  of 


CHANGELINGS.  13 

sounding  an  alarm  was  too  heavy  for  her.  Should  she 
speak  to  the  conductor  there  might  be  a  fight,  per- 
haps shots  ;  or  these  gentlemen  might  be  imprisoned. 
In  twenty  minutes  they  would  reach  White  River 
Junction,  where  she  must  leave  the  train.  She  would 
hardly  be  able  to  consult  her  father,  keeper  of  the 
hotel  there,  who  would  be  occupied  in  serving  the 
passengers  with  dinner.  Usually  she  was  frhe  account- 
ant in  the  Junction  restaurant,  and  she  remembered  a 
device  by  which  she  and  her  father  had  detained  a 
fugitive  defaulter  until  his  train  had  gone.  But  here, 
she  was  single-handed,  ignorant  of  the  circumstances. 
She  had  nearly  made  up  her  mind  that  she  could  do 
nothing,  when  there  approached  the  finest  looking 
man  she  had  ever  seen. 

"  Well,  Stirling,  I  reckon  you're  tired,"  said  one  of 
the  youths,  trying  to  smile. 

"  Not  very.  We  are  coming  to  White  River  Junc- 
tion now.  You  fellows  will  dine  with  me.  I  shall  be 
offended  if  either  of  you  pays  any  bill  en  this  trip, 
unless  it  has  to  be  when  you're  coming  back." 

Stirling  smiled  faintly  as  he  said  this.  The  girl  was 
moved  with  pity  and  horror  ;  there  rose  before  her 
a  vision  of  the  noble  youth  stretched  stark  and  dead 
on  the  Canadian  snow.  Surely  he  must  be  saved. 
The  train  had  slackened  speed  at  West  Lebanon ;  it 
was  moving  slowly  over  the  Connecticut.  The  first  to 
leap  from  it  was  the  pretty  accountant.  When  her 
father  met  her  she  whispered  in  his  ear  :  she  hurried 
from  the  embrace  of  her  sister  into  the  dining-room. 
There  she  assumed  her  place  at  a  desk,  and,  while  the 
passengers  were  making  the  most  of  their  twenty 


14  PINE  AND  PALM. 

minutes,  a  council  of  three  was  in  close  consulta- 
tion. 

Wentworth  and  Stirling  almost  met  when  posting 
their  letters,  written  before  starting.  They  sat  with 
their  respective  friends  in  the  dining-room.  The 
seconds  had  appetites,  and  those  of  Stirling  were 
nearly  the  last  to  rise. 

And  now  occurred  a  singular  and  irritating  inci- 
dent. Stirling  handed  five  dollars  to  a  collector  at 
the  door,  to  pay  for  his  party,  and  was  requested  to 
wait  for  the  change.  After  waiting  until  the  last 
diner  had  disappeared  from  the  saloon,  he  called  to 
the  collector. 

"  If  you  can't  give  me  my  change  I  must  go  with- 
out it." 

"  Just  a  moment,  sir, — plenty  of  time,"  said  the  man, 
rushing  to  the  bar  ;  whence,  however,  he  presently 
returned  with  his  superior. 

"  This  is  a  counterfeit,  sir." 

"  Then  here  is  another,"  said  Stirling. 

"  But  that  won't  do  ;  a  man  can't  go  about  offering 
bad  money  and  then  slip  off  when  he's  caught." 

"  I  have  friends  on  the  train  to  answer  for  me,  but 
don't  detain  me.  You  can  point  me  out  to  the  con- 
ductor and  tell  him  about  it." 

The  saloon  men  rushed  wildly  about  calling  for  the 
conductor,  wherever  he  was  least  likely  to  be,  while 
Stirling  tugged  madly  at  the  locked  door.  Only  as 
the  engine  gave  its  parting  cry  was  the  door  opened. 
Had  he  been  on  the  way  to  his  wedding  instead  of 
his  possible  grave,  Stirling  could  not  have  been  more 
dismayed.  He  had  lost  the  only  train  that  could 


CHANGELINGS.    !  15 

bring  him  to  the  rendezvous  at  the  appointed  time  ; 
he  already  saw  the  sneering  faces  of  his  "  Southrons." 
That  the  honor  of  Virginia  should  be  trailed  in  the 
dust,  that  the  Yankees  should  wag  their  heads,  all  on 
account  of  a  beggarly  beefsteak,  was  too  much  for  his 
equanimity  ;  he  straightway  collared  the  collector 
and  began  shoving  him  furiously  among  the  chairs. 

"  Don't,  sir  ;  don't  !  "  shouted  that  alarmed  func- 
tionary. "  It's  all  right,  sir  !  " 

"  All  right !     What  do  you  mean,  you  scoundrel  !  " 

"  It's  all  right—" 

"  I  tell  you  it's  all  wrong,"  cried  the  infuriated  Vir- 
ginian. 

"  I  mean  the  money,  sir  ;  that  counterfeit  wasn't 
yours  after  all,  and  I  humbly  apologize." 

"  Apologize  !  Idiot  !  When  you've  made  me  lose 
my  train,  and — " 

Stirling  again  clutched  at  the  man,  who  ran  calling 
for  help,  and  the  master  of  the  establishment  inter- 
vened. 

"  Come,  sir  ;  don't  be  angry  ;  accidents  will  hap- 
pen sometimes,  and  that  stupid  fellow  shall  be  pun- 
ished. There's  a  midnight  express,  or  if  you'd  rather 
travel  by  day  you  shall  have  the  best  accommodation 
my  house  can  afford,  gratis.  Very  sorry  sir  ;  but  it 
can't  be  helped  now,  you  know,  and  the  best  way's  to 
put  as  good  a  face  on  it  as  you  can." 

"  Is  there  a  telegraph  office  in  this  infernal  hole  ? " 
asked  Stirling. 

"  Just  there  at  the  corner,  sir." 

Stirling  at  once  sent  a  telegram,  addressed  to  the 
care  of  the  conductor  on  the  lost  train  for  delivery  to 


16  PINE  AND  PALM. 

his  friends.  These  were  in  the  utmost  dismay.  They 
had  supposed  their  principal  was  seeking  solitude 
somewhere  on  the  train,  but  at  length  one  of  them, 
becoming  uneasy,  strolled  through  the  cars  to  return 
with  the  astounding  report  that  Stirling  was  not  to  be 
found.  Wentworth  turned  pale  ;  a  suspicion  of  sui- 
cide flashed  through  his  mind.  The  conductor  was 
summoned,  and  promised  to  telegraph  an  inquiry  to 
White  River  Junction. 

As  Wentworth's  friends  were  presently  leaving  him, 
for  a  consultation  requested  by  the  others,  he 
beckoned  them  back  for  a  moment. 

"  Remember,"  he  said,  "nothing  will  be  said  by  any 
man  who  respects  me  disparaging  to  the  honor  of 
Stirling." 

The  Virginian's  seconds  were  not  quite  so  confident 
in  their  principal,  and  had  to  suffer  some  shame  for 
their  misgivings  when  the  conductor  brought  Stirling's 
telegram  stating  that  he  had  been  detained  on  a 
ridiculous  charge  and  would  follow  them  by  the  next 
express. 

But  Stirling  did  not  follow,  either  by  the  night  or 
the  next  day's  express.  Wentworth  and  his  friends 
were  relieved,  the  southerners  annoyed  and 
angry.  They  were  all  weary,  and  with  one  exception 
slept  through  the  night  on  their  way  back  to 
Boston.  When  their  train  stopped  for  a  moment, 
about  three  in  the  night,  at  the  Junction,  Went- 
worth peered  out  into  the  darkness,  but  saw  no  one. 

After  Stirling  had  been  left  by  his  train  he  paced 
the  depot  till  the  cold  drove  him  into  the  restaurant ; 
. there  he  strode  up  and  down  the  dining  hall,  angrily 


CHANGELINGS.  17 

refusing  the  proprietor's  solicitations  that  he  would 
take  food.  Fatigue  and  worry  overcame  him  at  last, 
and  when  the  hotel-keeper  begged  him  to  cross  the 
street  to  his  hotel,  where  a  room  was  prepared  for 
him — "  and  no  expense,  sir,  if  that  may  be  mentioned  " 
— he  yielded.  He  was  conciliated  by  the  persistent 
good-nature  of  the  man  through  all  repulses.  "  Why 
should  I  be  angry  with  this  simple-hearted  Yankee,  so 
eager  to  serve  me  ?  If  Gisela  and  Pen  were  here  they 
would  throw  their  arms  around  his  neck  for  making 
me  miss  my  train."  The  kindly  host,  as  he  left  him 
in  the  neat  apartment  with  its  bright  fire,  said,  "  You'll 
be  entirely  alone." 

Alone  indeed.  The  wild  wind  was  the  only  voice 
he  heard.  How  far  that  dear  home  in  Virginia  !  One 
friend  he  had  found  in  this  northern  clime,  tender  as 
his  brother,  but  this  friend's  familiar  knock  had  been 
refused,  and  he  had  compelled  him  to  become  an 
enemy.  While  gazing  into  the  fire  with  dim  eyes  he 
started  at  a  gentle  knock  on  his  door — had  it  only 
been  Wentworth's  once  more  !  A  comely  young 
woman  brought  in  a  dainty  repast.  Stirling  had 
a  confused  sense  of  having  seen  her  face  before. 

"My  father  hopes  you  will  eat  something,"  she 
said,  with  friendly  tone. 

"  Your  father  is  kind, — I  suppose  it  is  he  who 
invited  me  in  here.  I've  been  rude  to  him  and  ask 
his  pardon.  But  I  do  not  feel  like  eating,  thank 
you." 

"  Try,  sir  ;  father  says  you  have  eaten  nothing.  He 
is  not  vexed  at  any  thing  you  said  ;  it  was  quite 
natural  ;  we  hope  you  will  let  us  make  up  for  the 


1 8  PINE  AND  PALM. 

trouble  caused  you  with  this  little  dinner  and  a  com- 
fortable bedroom." 

There  are  circumstances  under  which  any  woman 
with  kindly  look  and  voice  may  represent  all  beloved 
women.  In  his  loneliness  Stirling  saw  beside  this 
maid,  so  delicately  ministering  to  his  need,  the  faces 
of  his  sisters. 

"I  will  eat  because  you  are  good  enough  to  wish 
it,"  he  said  rising  ;  but  the  next  moment  he  sank  back 
in  his  chair  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  Since 
his  excited  speech  in  Dane  Hall  the  poor  youth,  natur- 
ally emotional,  had  passed  two  sleepless  nights  and 
hardly  tasted  food.  And  now  this  tender  voice 
brought  Went  worth's  gentle  unanswered  knock  thun- 
dering again  at  his  heart,  and  breaking  it. 

The  roses  faded  from  the  cheek  of  the  young  host- 
ess, her  eyes  grew  large  and  soft,  as  she  looked  on 
this  strong  youth  bowed  down  with  anguish  of 
mind.  A  deep  sympathy  was  in  her  voice  when  she 
spoke. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  sir  ?  I  can  not  know  what 
distresses  you,  but  if  the  loss  of  your  train  means 
some  other  loss,  we  would  all  be  very  sorry  and  will 
do  all  we  can  to  make  it  good." 

Her  tones  were  a  balm,  but  Stirling  had  not  quite 
caught  what  she  said  and  made  no  answer. 

"  Cheer  up,  sir,"  she  continued,  after  some  moments' 
silence  ;  u  many  things  that  seem  hard  come  right  in 
the  end.  Perhaps  it  may  be  all  for  the  best  that  you 
cannot  go  on." 

"  Cannot  !  "  cried  Stirling,  raising  his  eyes — "  I 
must  !  I  must  go  on  this  night,  though  I  had  rather 


CHANGELINGS.  19 

die  this  moment."  Again  his  head  was  bent  in  his 
hands,  over  which  was  a  burning  forehead. 

Her  word  "  cannot  "  was  artful  ;  it  might  mean  only 
that  no  northward  train  was  at  hand  ;  but  his  ominous 
words,  their  undertone  of  horror  if  not  of  guilt,  with- 
held her  from  changing  what  she  had  spoken.  Here 
was  a  noble  youth  on  his  way  to  something  worse  than 
death.  He  should  not  go  !  No  friend  was  near  him, 
and  she  must  do  her  best. 

The  fatal  hours  flew  swiftly  to  midnight, 
soon  after  which  the  train  would  arrive.  The 
gracious  hostess  had  brought  Stirling  a  good  supper, 
and  taken  it  away, — like  the  dinner,  scarce  tasted. 
She  had  brought  him  books  also,  but  he  could  not  read. 
He  passed  the  evening  smoking  and  walking  the  floor. 
About  midnight  there  was  a  knock,  and  again  the 
young  hotel  dame  appeared. 

"  Did  you  ring,  sir  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  blush  at 
the  pretense. 

;<  No,  but  I  am  glad  you  have  come.  I  would  like 
to  settle." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  pay.  We  shall  certainly  take 
no  money." 

"  Not  even  for  my  wine  to-day  ?  " 

"  Not  for  the  wine." 

"  Well,  you  are  carrying  your  compensation  very 
far.  I  am  much  obliged.  Has  my  train  been  sig- 
naled ?  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  and  it  will  not  be.  You  can  not  go  on 
to-night." 

"  What,  has  any  thing  happened  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  had  a  warning  which  leads   me-— 


20  PINE  AND  PALM. 

leads  me— Oh,  sir  ;  do  not  try  to  leave  here  this 
night !  " 

"Who  has  warned  you?  What  do  you  know?" 
demanded  Stirling,  sharply. 

"  What  do  I  need  more  than  your  own  anguish  and 
tears  !  You  said  you'd  rather  die.  That's  enough. 
Your  heart  says  no,  and  you  can  not  go  on." 

"Your  feeling  is  kind,  and  I  ought  not  to  have 
troubled  you  with  my  worries.  I  must  go  on — there 
is  no  help  for  it." 

"  There  is  help  for  it.  Forgive  my  boldness,  but 
you  are  in  trouble — not  mere  worry — and  I  can't 
leave  you  so.  You  said  it  was  worse  than  death.  I'm 
afraid  it's  something  wrong." 

Again  that  knock  of  Wentworth  at  his  door  sounded 
through  his  brain, — gentle,  appealing.  His  face  was 
suffused  with  shame  ;  his  head  began  to  swim,  but  no 
tears  relieved  his  burning  eyes.  He  shook  his  head 
silently  and  arose  to  take  his  hat.  But  in  his  way 
stood  no  compliant  hostess  ;  he  was  confronted  by  a 
pale  compassionate  Fate. 

"  Somewhere  in  the  world  there  are  women  who 
love  you  ;  I  am  speaking  for  them  ;  you  will 
surely  go  no  step  further  towards  what  is  un- 
worthy of  you,  and  would  bring  them  grief  and 
shame." 

She  had  spoken  like  one  inspired,  had  thrilled  him 
by  her  authentic  voice,  but  only  now  had  touched  the 
quick.  He  was  indeed  standing  between  love  and 
friendship  on  one  hand,  grief  and  shame  on  the  other. 
Stirling  closed  his  eyes  and  sat  still  before  the 
alarmed  girl  for  almost  a  minute  ;  then  he  started  up 


CHANGELINGS.  21 

with  a  look  of  determination,  and  words  leaped  from 
his  lips. 

"  I  will  not  !  I'll  not  go  a  step  further  in  this 
damned  baseness — never,  by  God  !  " 

"  You  have  now  given  your  word  to  God,"  said  the 
girl. 

"And  I  give  it  to  you.  I  don't  care  who  sneers. 
I'll  be  a  man.  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  story — I  love 
one  man  above  all  men  and  have  forced  him  to — " 

At  that  moment  the  scream  of  an  approaching  train 
was  heard,  and  Stirling  rushed  to  the  door. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   MEETING. 

THE  secret  of  the  proposed  duel  had  been  well 
kept  at  Harvard.  The  two  councils  in  which 
it  was  arranged  had  sworn  secrecy ;  the  whole 
thing  was  too  incredible  to  circulate  swiftly.  When 
Wentworth  was  soon  after  seen  walking  about  as 
usual  all  might  have  blown  over,  but  for  the  non-ap- 
pearance of  Stirling.  When  it  was  observed  that  the 
Virginian  had  not  appeared  at  Miss  Upham's  board- 
ing-house for  several  days,  rumor  took  a  bold  flight  ; 
it  whispered  that  the  Bostonian  had  left  his  man  dead 
in  the  field.  This  rumor  was  presently  confirmed  by 
the  sudden  flight — so  it  was  construed — of  Went- 
worth himself.  He  had  remained  in  Cambridge  two 
or  three  days  after  his  return  from  the  north,  but 
after  that  did  not  appear  at  the  law  school,  and 
knocks  at  his  door  were  unanswered. 

Wentworth  had  returned  to  Cambridge  fully  expect- 
ing to  find  Stirling  there.  Having  ascertained  that 
he  had  not  been  seen  since  he  started  for  Canada,  the 
Boston  "  principal  "  became  uneasy  about  the  Vir- 
ginian, and  sent  a  dispatch  to  the  landlord  at  White 
River  Junction,  the  reply  to  which  had  caused  his 
sudden  departure. 

When  Stirling,  on  the  point  of  telling  the  burden 


THE  MEETING.  23 

on  his  mind,  rushed  to  the  door,  as  we  have  seen,  he 
found  it  locked,  the  sympathetic  young  hostess  hav- 
ing quietly  fortified  that  point.  Turning  round  she 
saw  Stirling  fall.  She  called,  but  the  noisy  train 
drowned  her  voice.  She  saw  that  he  had  fainted,  and 
bathed  his  forehead,  but  he  did  not  at  once  recover 
and  she  ran  for  her  father. 

Between  the  two — Emanuel  and  Emanuella 
Rhodes — a  brief  interchange  of  theories  then  occurred. 

"  Father,  it's  a  great  trouble." 

"  Child,  it's  starvation." 

"  Father  !  " 

"  Don't  tell  me  !  I've  watched  that  young  man 
like  a  hawk,  ever  since  he  lost  his  train  ;  he  hasn't 
had  as  much  as  a  mouthful,  and  how  far  mayn't  he 
have  come  ? " 

Nuella  looked  reproachfully  at  her  prosaic  father, 
but  remembered  with  misgivings  the  untasted  food, 
with  a  pang  of  regret  that  she  had  not  managed  to 
have  the  poor  man  eat  something  before  pleading  with 
him.  She  summoned  waiters  to  put  him  to  bed. 
After  he  had  been  carried  thither,  Nuella  again 
entered  ;  he  was  breathing  gently,  as  if  in  sleep. 
After  a  silent  hour,  in  which  she  watched  some  cov- 
ered dishes  set  near  the  fire,  the  young  man  moaned 
as  if  trying  to  say  something  ;  she  listened  and  heard 
him  breathing  heavily.  Emanuel  looked  in  from  time 
to  time  and  at  length  read  an  unfavorable  bulletin  on 
his  daughter's  face.  Thoroughly  alarmed  about  the 
day's  transactions  now  ending  so  seriously,  he  sent  for 
the  doctor  ;  but  the  only  one  in  the  place  had  gone  to 
a  patient  several  miles  away.  The  long  sleigh  drive 


24  PINE  AND  PALM. 

after  him  was  undertaken  by  Emanuel,  and  Nuella 
watched  through  the  painful  night.  Once  Stirling 
started  and  sat  up  in  bed,  and  she  managed  to  have 
him  swallow  a  little  broth  ;  but  he  did  not  appear  con- 
scious, and  it  was  a  great  relief  to  the  anxious  hostess 
when,  about  daybreak,  the.  doctor  arrived. 

Wentworth  when  he  arrived  at  once  had  a  consulta- 
tion with  Dr.  Chase,  who  said  the  patient  had  a  severe 
fever  ;  he  would  not  like  to  have  three  more  beats 
per  minute  added  to  his  pulse  :  but  he  had  a  good 
constitution  and  it  would  probably  parry  the  blow. 
Constant  care  would  be  required,  and  no  oppor- 
tunity for  nourishment  lost.  Nuella  had  a  sis- 
ter of  seventeen  years  competent  to  relieve  her  of 
many  duties  in  the  hotel,  so  that  she  could  devote  her 
attention  to  the  invalid.  A  room  adjoining  that  of 
Stirling  was  assigned  to  Wentworth,  with  whom  Nuella 
now  shared  the  care  which  for  the  larger  part  of  the 
week  she  had  borne  almost  alone.  To  Wentworth 
alone  she  confided  all  that  had  passed  between  Stirl- 
ing and  herself,  and  from  him  learned  that  this  youth 
was  far  from  his  southern  home  and  that  he  was 
worthy  of  the  kindness  she  had  bestowed,  and 
that,  though  the  purpose  of  his  journey  involved  no 
moral  baseness,  she  had  done  good  service  in  prevent- 
ing it. 

AVentworth  and  Nuella  took  their  needful  rest  by 
relays.  It  was  under  her  watch  that  the  patient's  for- 
midable fever  began  to  abate.  On  the  second  morn- 
ing after  Wentworth's  arrival  she  brought  the  happy 
tidings  to  his  door. 

M  I'll  be  with  you  in  a  moment,"  he  said. 


THE  MEETING.  25 

"I  think  you  had  better  wait  till  I  call  you  ;  he  is 
very  weak  and  should  eat  before  talking." 

That  monarch  for  whom,  when  near  his  end,  all 
manner  of  meats  were  kept  turning  on  spits  in  case 
his  majesty  might  desire  some  particular  dainty,  was 
not  more  cared  for  than  Stirling,  for  whose  possible 
need  Nuella  kept  things  always  simmering  and  ready. 
Her  answer  to  Stirling's  first  intelligent  question  was 
a  plate  of  broth. 

"  Not  until  you  have  eaten  something/'  she  said  ; 
"  I'll  tell  you  every  thing  then.  The  doctor  says  you 
need  food,  and  must  obey  me  in  every  thing."  She 
blushed  a  little,  but  reflected  that  the  doctor  ought  to 
have  said  this. 

Stirling  began  to  eat  feebly  but  proceeded  raven- 
ously ;  and  when,  with  some  misgivings  as  to  what 
the  doctor  might  think,  Nuella  suggested  "  perhaps 
that  may  do  for  a  little  time,"  he  smiled  ;  to  this 
smile,  the  first  she  had  seen  on  that  pathetic  face, 
Nuella  responded  with  a  laugh — an  audible  laugh,  with 
which  she  glided  out  of  the  room  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  asked  Wentworth,  approach- 
ing at  the  moment,  •"  Has  any  thing  happened  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  sir,  he  is  better,  I  am  happy." 

"  Miss  Rhodes,  you  have  had  no  rest,  no  sleep — 
you  are  broken  down — you  must — " 

"  Don't  think  of  me — it  is  nothing — go  to  him  !  " 

"  But  stay,"  she  whispered,  "  I  wonder  if  that  would 
be  best  before  the  doctor  has  seen  him." 

Dr.  Chase  was  soon  brought  by  Wentworth,  and 
after  seeing  the  patient  hinted  that  a  friend  had 
arrived. 


26  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  It  is  Wentworth,"  said  Stirling  ;  "  let  me  see  him." 

Wentworth  had  been  alive  to  the  danger  of  sud- 
denly meeting  Stirling,  and  had  kept  out  of  the  way 
of  his  eyes  when  they  were  open.  He  meant  to  be 
prudent  now,  but  could  not  refrain  from  bending  over 
to  kiss  the  pale  forehead,  making  it  burn  again.  Stirl- 
ing was  nevertheless  sore  of  spirit,  and,  so  soon  as  his 
recovery  was  assured,  Wentworth  left  for  Cambridge 
for  fear  of  an  agitating  conversation  arising  concern- 
ing their  unsettled  misunderstanding.  Before  leaving 
he  warmly  expressed  his  gratitude  to  Nuella. 

"  You  have  saved  him  and  me  from  a  calamity  ; 
you  have  carried  through  his  illness  as  noble  a  man 
as  ever  breathed  ;  to  have  done  that  is  all  the  reward 
you  want,  I  know :  but  I  beg  you  keep  this  address, 
and  if,  in  all  your  life,  you  should  want  a  friend,  be 
sure  you  can  count  on  me  if  I  am  alive." 

Nuella  answered  with  a  few  deprecatory  words  and 
went  off  with  throbbing  temples  :  she  was  over- 
whelmed by  finding  her  little  life  surrounded 
with  strange  events.  Stirling  remained  nearly  a  week 
after  Wentworth  had  gone.  During  his  convales- 
cence Nuella  often  read  to  him,  and  they  became  good 
friends.  Stirling  could  not  know  all  she  had  done 
for  him,  but  he  remembered  her  oracular  "cannot," 
when  on  his  way  to  a  hostile  meeting  with  his  friend, 
and  attributed  to  Nuella  mysterious  insight.  Her 
time  went  on  with  happy  hours  until  Stirling  left. 

Emanuel  received  compensation,  but  no  one  ven- 
tured to  approach  Nuella  with  money.  She  parted 
from  Stirling  silently  and  withdrew  to  her  room, 
whither  we  will  not  follow  her.  Manuel  did,  indeed, 


THE    MEETING.  27 

presently  follow  her  there,  and  came  out  with  face 
much  less  merry  than  usual.  He  called  to  his  other 
daughter,  Ruth,  who,  after  a  few  words  had  passed 
between  them,  undertook  the  affairs  of  the  house  for 
the  rest  of  the  day. 

One  encounter  no  Nuella  could  prevent.  Stirling  and 
Wentworth,  notwithstanding  their  meeting  at  White 
River  Junction,  had  felt  a  certain  shyness  since  their 
return  to  Cambridge  about  being  seen  with  each  other. 
None  had  formed  any  definite  theory  to  explain  why 
the  affair  of  honor  did  not  come  off  in  consistency 
with  the  essential  postulate  that  both  men  had  behaved 
with  absolute  honor  and  courage.  After  a  few  days 
of  oppressive  silence  on  the  part  of  every  body  con- 
cerning what  was  uppermost  in  every  body's  mind, 
Stirling  began  to  feel  somewhat  sore  that  Wentworth 
suggested  no  apology  or  other  settlement,  while  the 
latter  wondered  why  the  challenge  was  not  with- 
drawn. Probably  both  of  them  were  restrained  from 
taking  any  immediate  step  by  a  feeling  that  they 
would  have  to  meet  in  the  presence  of  the  college 
authorities.  This  was  a  suspended  sword  over  them 
that  must  soon  fall.  Judge  Minott,  however,  had 
persuaded  the  authorities  to  ignore  the  incident,  leav- 
ing its  due  treatment  to  himself.  When  notified  of 
his  desire  to  see  them  in  his  library  both  youths  felt 
a  certain  relief ;  but  when  they  actually  met  they  found 
it  sufficiently  embarrassing,  and  stood  silent,  flushed, 
perhaps  a  little  irritated. 

"Your  meeting  here,"  said  the  judge,  "may  be 
vexatious,  but  less  so  than  if  it  were  before  a  magis- 
trate— as  it  might  have  been.  I  have  not  brought 


28  PINE  AND  PALM. 

you  together  for  a  scene,  but  some  painful  words 
must  be  spoken.  As  a  teacher  of  law  I  have  the 
right  to  expect  that  differences  between  our  students 
shall  be  settled  by  other  means  than  those  declared 
criminal  alike  by  the  laws  of  Virginia  and  Massachu- 
setts. I  might  add,  settled  by  other  weapons  than 
those  with  which  any  bully  could  triumph  over  the 
wisest  man  in  the  country;  that  blackguard,  for 
instance,  who  lately  challenged  Webster.  As  a  friend 
I  might  have  expected  that  my  arbitration  might 
have  been  sought " 

The  young  men  started  forward  simultaneously,  as 
if  to  grasp  the  hand  of  their  friend,  but  he  proceeded 
as  if  their  movement  had  been  unobserved. 

"  Well — let  it  be  that  I  am  nothing  to  men  whose 
fathers  trusted  me  ;  I  abdicate  ;  but  reason  does  not 
abdicate.  I  hear  that  the  trouble  began  with  some 
personal  remark  by  you,  Walter  ?  " 

"  It  is  true.  The  moment  after  I  realized  what 
I  had  done,  and  had  not  the  court  been  foolishly 
broken  up  would  have  tendered  an  apology ;  as  it  was 
I  went  to  Stirling  to  apologize." 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  judge,  "  a  hand  offered  in 
private  is  no  apology  for  an  insult  in  public.  But 
somehow  I  can  not  recognize  either  of  you  in  these 
transactions.  As  you  were  friends,  I  assume  that  all 
efforts  to  reach  an  understanding  were  exhausted." 

Stirling  began  to  feel  uneasy  ;  it  dawned  upon  him 
that  he  had  surrendered  himself  too  fully  to  his 
"  Southrons  "  in  the  framing  of  his  challenge. 

"Of  course,  Randolph,"  said  the  judge,  "you 
demanded  that  he  should  apologize  or  fight  ? " 


THE   MERTING.  29 

Stirling's  face  reddened  ;  he  made  no  reply. 

"  I  am  glad  to  conclude  that  it  wasn't  you,  Ran- 
dolph, who  wrote  that  challenge,  though  sorry  you 
should  have  surrendered  yourself  to  a  set  of  braggarts 
spoiling  for  a  fight  by  proxy,  and  fancying  themselves 
defenders  of  southern  honor." 

"But  I  have  done  worse,  sir,"  cried  Wentworth  ; 
"  I  gave  myself  to  bad  advisers  in  a  region,  unlike 
Stirling's,  whose  public  sentiment  would  approve  a 
refusal  to  fight.  After  insulting  my  friend  i  consented 
to  shoot  him " 

"Walter,"  interrupted  the  judge,  "let  us  stick  to 
the  truth.  Randolph,  I  received  a  letter  from  your 
father  the  other  day,  with  an  inclosure  that  may 
interest  you." 

Stirling  read  as  follows  : — "  Hon.  Richard  Stirling, 
— Dear  Sir, — It  has  been  my  misfortune  to  utter 
words  which,  being  generally  deemed  insulting  to 
your  son,  have  caused  him  to  demand  satisfaction. 
It  may  be  that  some  rumor  of  our  leaving  Cambridge 
for  a  hostile  meeting  may  cause  anxiety  to  yourself 
and  family  ;  I  therefore  beg  that  you  will  be  under  no 
apprehension  ;  nothing  could  induce  me  to  harm  your 
son.  The  only  danger  under  which  he  stands  is  that 
of  burthening  his  memory  with  a  regret,  and  I  rely  on 
your  affection  never  to  add  to  that  regret  by  revealing 
the  contents  of  this  note.  I  am,  sir,  your  obedient 
servant,  W.  Wentworth." 

"  Oh,  Wentworth,"  said  Stirling,  with  a  great  pain 
in  his  voice. 

"It  wasn't  fair  to  give  him  that  note,"  said  Went- 
worth. 


30  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  Hush,  Wentworth,"  said  Stirling ;  "  we  have  had 
our  meeting ;  you  have  conquered  ;  the  man  who 
challenged  you  is  dead." 

"  The  man  who  accepted  can  not  survive,"  said 
Wentworth,  taking  his  friend's  hand. 

Judge  Minott  touched  a  bell,  and  soon  after  Mrs. 
Minott  appeared.  The  young  men  passed  out  to 
dinner,  leaving  their  changeling  selves  dead  in  the 
library.  As  Stirling  preceded  with  Mrs.  Minott.  the 
judge  moved  slowly  enough  to  whisper  to  Wentworth 
— "  It  is  probable  that  your  duty  to  North  and  South 
would  hardly  have  been  fulfilled  in  the  eyes  of  your 
seconds.  I  happen  to  know  that  Stirling  also  had 
resolved  to  be  shot  without  shooting.  What  fine 
stage  assassins  you  two  would  make  ! " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    JUDGE    PROPOSES    AN    AFFAIR    OF    HONOR. 

THE  reconciliation  just  described  did  not  termin- 
ate the  Wentworth-Stirling  incident  so  completely 
as  that  little  dinner  company  may  have  hoped.  The 
partisan  feelings  excited  could  not  subside  at  once. 
When  Stirling  said  to  his  friend  "  the  man  who 
challenged  you  is  dead,"  the  words  were  truer  than 
he  thought.  He  showed  coolness  towards  the  framers 
of  his  challenge,  without  concealing  from  himself  his 
own  fault  in  that  matter.  Knowing  now  Wentworth's 
unbroken  loyalty,  he  felt  so  guilty  that  he  must  needs 
do  penance,  and  refrained  from  assuring  his  friend 
that  he  also  had  resolved  not  to  fire  at  him.  Went- 
worth,  as  we  know,  had  been  informed  of  this  by 
Judge  Minott,  to  whom  Stirling  had  said  it  in  a  note 
to  be  delivered  after  the  hostile  encounter,  but  this 
he  did  not  suspect,  and  felt  that  it  was  only  what  he 
deserved  if  Wentworth  should  continue  to  believe  he 
really  meant  to  kill  him.  On  the  other  hand  Went- 
worth also  had  been  running  up  an  account  against 
himself  for  not  having  refused  a  friend's  challenge 
compelled  by  southern  sentiment. 

When  these  principals,  at  a  time  when  one  or  both 
should  have  been  duly  lying  stark  on  Canadian  snow, 
were  distinctly  observed  walking  arm-in-arm  once 


32  PINE  AND  PALM. 

more,  the  sight  was  not  regarded  with  universal 
satisfaction.  In  the  Harvard  republic  two  camps  had 
been  formed,  and  each  feared  its  champion  had  shown 
the  white  feather.  Naturally,  the  chief  cloud  of 
suspicion  gathered  around  Stirling.  It  was  all  so 
transparent — that  loss  of  a  train  and  supplementary 
illness  !  Such  innuendoes  reaching  Wentworth  just 
before  a  meeting  of  the  court  in  Dane  Hall  gave  a 
certain  impressiveness  to  an  apology  he  had  prepared. 
He  "  humbly  apologized  "  to  the  Court,  and  to  its 
distinguished  member  Mr.  Randolph  Stirling,  for  a 
hasty  and  injurious  phrase  uttered  on  an  unhappily 
notorious  occasion.  His  words,  he  acknowledged, 
were  "  susceptible  of  an  insulting  application,  and  he 
could  never  sufficiently  regret  having  wronged  a  gen- 
tleman of  truth,  honor,  and  courage,  who  had,  with 
characteristic  magnanimity,  forgiven  him,  and  whom 
he  was  proud  to  call  his  friend." 

The  mean  view  of  this  incident  was  the  first  to 
make  itself  heard.  It  was  all  a  "plant."  The  two 
had  their  private  understanding  all  along  ;  one  was 
to  miss  reaching  the  rendezvous,  the  other  to  pro- 
claim him  the  soul  of  honor.  Such  posings  were  too 
thin.  But  the  theory  which  gradually  prevailed  was 
that  Stirling,  disappointed  at  finding  a  Yankee  who 
would  fight,  had  backed  down  as  plausibly  as  he  could, 
and  Wentworth  had  compassionately  covered  his  old 
friend's  retreat  with  an  apology.  Such  was  the  form  in 
which  the  gossip  presently  reached  Stirling.  He  did 
not  feel  humiliated,  but  even  experienced  a  certain 
satisfaction  in  such  completeness  of  his  penance.  He 
was  now  about  "  square  "  with  Wentworth,  who  had 


AN  AFFAIR  OF  HONOR.  33 

got  ahead  of  him  in  chivalry  by  that  public  apology, 
to  which  he  had  only  been  able  to  reply  with  a  low 
bow.  But  Wentworth  would  not  regard  it  as  "  square  "  ; 
on  the  contrary  he  was  furious.  It  was  even  asserted 
that  when  the  charges  against  Stirling  were  last 
mentioned  in  his  hearing  he  uttered  an  oath  big 
enough  to  embarrass  the  recording  angel.  He  did  not 
rest  until  he  had  submitted  all  the  facts, — as  known  to 
him  through  Manuel,  Nuella,  and  the  physician, — 
before  a  company  of  leading  law-students,  northern 
and  southern.  Stirling  did  not  know  of  this  con- 
clave for  some  time,  but  he  began  to  perceive  that  this 
Bostonian  was  more  jealous  for  his  honor  than  any 
southerner.  The  atmosphere  around  him  became  less 
sultry  with  suspicion,  and  presently  cleared  altogether  ; 
but  a  change  had  been  wrought  in  him  greater  than 
he  could  realize.  It  had  come  about  that  his  ideal 
gentleman  was  now  a  Yankee  abolitionist. 

It  was  equally  impossible  for  these  experiences  to 
leave  Wentworth  just  where  he  was  before.  This 
slaveholding  southerner,  so  sensitive  about  his  honor 
yet  so  patient  under  calumny,  so  eager  to  take  more 
than  his  share  of  the  disgrace  consequent  on  their 
joint  folly,  raised  the  whole  South  in  his  estimation. 
Could  such  a  man,  or  the  community  which  produced 
such,  be  cruel  toward  helpless  negroes  ?  Thus  these 
youths  were  somewhat  withdrawn  from  the  camps 
they  had  done  so  much  to  form,  and  alarmed  their 
followers  with  conciliatory  sentimentG. 

Judge  Minott  perceived  that  a  fictitious  affair  of 
honor  between  his  young  friends  had  been  succeeded 
by  a  real  one.  They  were  contending  in  the  presence 


34  PINE  AND  PALM. 

of  partisans,  for  the  honor  of  surpassing  each  other  in 
magnanimity.  In  that  competition  both  had  con- 
quered, and  it  set  the  judge  to  dreaming.  What  if 
the  South  and  North  could  similarly  end  their  dis- 
sensions, come  close  to  each  other's  heart,  and  van- 
quish each  other  with  generosity  !  And  why  might 
not  these  two  noble  leaders  in  the  university  become 
leaders  in  the  nation,  and  help  to  bring  about  the 
happier  era  ?  It  is  easy  to  be  philosophical  after  the 
fact,  but  in  those  days  many  were  the  straws  floating 
on  the  flood  which  to  their  discoverers  appeared 
material  for  an  ark.  The  judge's  dream  was  that  of  a 
man  accustomed  to  consider  both  sides  of  every  ques- 
tion, also  of  an  optimistic  temperament.  He  was 
awakened  from  his  dream  by  the  sound  of  a  shell 
bursting  on  Fort  Sumter  ;  but  meanwhile  that  dream 
had  not  been  without  its  effect  on  the  lives  of  the  two 
young  men  with  whom  it  was  associated. 

Wentworth  and  Stirling  also  had  their  dreams,  and, 
as  their  graduation  drew  near,  one  vision  acquired  the 
consistency  ot  a  purpose  :  they  would  pass  together  a 
year  in  Europe.  Stirling's  sisters  did  not  quite  like 
this  ;  and  Penelope  pouted  through  the  longest  letter 
she  ever  wrote.  Judge  Stirling  had  enjoyed  too  few 
similar  opportunities  in  his  youth  to  deny  his  son 
any  he  had  power  to  give  ;  so  he  wrote  Randolph  a 
cheerful  consent,  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  But  when 
the  friends  visited  Judge  Minott  one  Sunday  afternoon 
to  talk  over  their  plan,  they  perceived  with  dismay 
that  it  was  unwelcome.  Very  soon  he  was  pleading 
against  the  European  tour  with  unwonted  warmth. 
Had  they  not  better  know  more  of  their  own  country 


AN  AFFAIR   OF  HONOR.  35 

before  wandering  abroad  ?     Northern  and    southern 
men  in  the  West  were  beginning  a  war  which  might 
spread  from  Kansas  over  the  whole  country  ;  and  what 
else  could  be  expected  when  even  northern  and  south- 
ern scholars  can  not  discuss  the  constitution  of  their 
country   without   a    proposal    to   exchange   shots  in 
Canada  ?     What  do  those    rude  combatants    in  the 
West  know  of   each  other  ?     An  educated    northern 
student  describes  the  South,  and  his  best  friend,  who 
has    lived    there,  is    amazed    at    the    picture.     An 
educated  southern   student  characterizes  the  North, 
and  his   best  friend,    a   northerner,  is  aghast  at  the 
description.       Not  realizing   that  this  kind  of    mis- 
understanding  is  bringing  on   a    struggle    between 
millions,  faintly  foreshadowed  by  their  own  abortive 
combat,  these  scholars  repair  to  classic  lands.     They 
return  perfectly  agreed  on  measurements  of  the  Par- 
thenon, and  relative  merits  of  Florentine  and  Venetian 
schools,  but  sundered  like  repellent  poles  on  a  vital 
issue  they  dare  not  name  to  each  other,  and  which  will 
surely  shatter  their  friendship  as  it  is  shattering  their 
country.     Europe  would  keep.     Whether  their  own 
country  would,  was  becoming  doubtful.     They    had 
been  able  to  form  hostile  camps  in  the  university  ;  if 
they  had  to  do  all  over  again  they  would  try  to  make 
those  camps  friendly  ;  they  might  at  least  try  to  do 
that  in  the  nation.     But  they  could  only  help  bring 
warring  sections  to  some  common  ground  if  they  first 
get  there  themselves.     "  You  will  never  be  true  friends 
until    that    old     issue,    suppressed   between    you,    is 
honestly  fought  out  and  settled.     Your  hearts  warned 
you  it  could  not  be  settled  by  proving  which  is  the 


36  PINE  AND  PALM. 

best  shot  ;  you  both  found  that  to  be  an  affair  of  dis- 
honor, and  resolved  not  to  shoot.  Now  let  me  propose 
an  affair  of  honor  :  instead  of  shots,  exchange  resi- 
dences for  a  time  !  Let  the  southerner  explore  the 
North,  the  northerner  the  South.  Let  the  year  be 
devoted  to  study  of  the  social  conditions  which  each 
is  believed  by  his  best  friend  to  misunderstand.  Then 
meet,  and  God  save  the  right  !  " 

The  friends  went  off  in  disappointment  ;  but  that 
evening  they  had  their  first  conversation  on  the 
slavery  question  and,  though  they  could  not  agree, 
they  talked  quietly  and  parted  as  friends. 

"  What  goody-goodies  you  are  making  these  college 
heroes  of  yours  !  " 

Very  true,  O  piquant  reader  !  I  look  through  my 
diary  of  those  days,  search  my  memories,  and  find 
these  two  youths  steadily  appearing  and  reappearing 
through  rainbow  archways,  with  morning-glories  about 
their  brows.  Mo  doubt  it  was  absurd.  Possibly, 
were  I  there  now  with  the  same  fellows,  I  might  de- 
cribe  Wentworth  as  priggish  and  Stirling  as  quixotic. 
But  the  most  democratic  man  is  a  blind  loyalist  at 
college  ;  he  will  have  his  king  and  hold  that  His 
Majesty  can  do  no  wrong.  When  lately  I  walked  the 
Yard  with  a  comrade  of  those  years  we  met  ourselves, 
and  smiled  to  see  what  ridiculous  devotees  we  were; 
may-be,  had  we  lingered  longer,  we  should  have  met 
our  young  gods  wearing  gilt  aureoles.  But  these 
realities — granting  them  such — do  not  give  one  so  much 
pleasure  as  illusions  of  the  earlier  time.  So  pray 
indulge  me,  for  the  present,  by  accepting  the  images 


AN  AFFAIR   OF  HONOR.  37 

left  by  our  heroes  in  our  foolish  hearts.  For  their 
college  days  are  ended.  They  must  now  win  or  lose 
their  haloes  from  your  cynical  self.  I  can  only  add 
that  to  the  last  we  were  all  fools  about  those 
two  boys.  Why,  on  the  evening  after  Class  Day,  when 
Walter  and  Randolph  gave  their  friends  a  supper  in 
Boston,  the  northern  and  southern  camps  were  so 
demoralized  that  they  touched  glasses,  vowed  eternal 
friendship,  and  supported  each  other  in  a  movement 
on  Cambridge.  We  beheld  the  great  sectional  dis- 
cords ended  then  and  there.  Is  it  to  be  supposed 
that  all  this  milk  was  poured  out  of  a  champagne- 
bottle  ?  It  may  have  been  so  in  one  or  two  cases, — I 
fear  that  Biglow  of  South  Carolina  and  Calhoun  of 
Rhode  Island  would  never  have  spoken  to  each  other 
but  for  that  last  Mumm, — but  in  truth  these  fellows 
could  never  have  been  brought  together  by  any  except 
Walter  and  Randolph:  but  for  their  magic  the  cham- 
pagne would  have  turned  to  vitriol. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    WORM    OF    SPINDLETON. 

ON  a  soft  Sunday  morning  of  early  autumn  a  working- 
man  strolled  along  one  of  the  rural  lanes  where 
virginal  nature  is  not  yet  devoured  by  the  fire-breath- 
ing jaws  of  Spindleton.  She  knows  that  her  time 
must  come  ;  the  monster  is  not  of  the  classic  kind  that 
guarded  pretty  gardens,  but  of  the  modern  virgin- 
devouring  kind  ;  and  King  Cotton,  who  ruled  in 
Spindleton,  had  ne'er  a  knight  at  his  court  inclined  to 
defend  any  beauty  from  such  fate.  Out  here,  how- 
ever, where  the  workman  strolled,  was  a  beautiful 
retreat.  The  hills  were  already  putting  on  their 
purple  and  gold  ;  the  air  was  warm,  and  a  mystical 
mist  softened  like  gauze  the  autumnal  tableaux. 
The  sun  had  just  come  forth  from  his  tent,  but  not 
as  a  strong  man  to  run  a  race,  rather  as  one  shorn  of 
his  locks  in  the  lap  of  dusky  Delilah,  and  to  be  looked 
at  without  fear.  Over  the  tall  chimneys  of  Spindleton 
remained  a  canopy  of  smoke,  the  ever-ascending  smoke 
of  its  toilers'  torment,  shutting  off  the  blue-and-gold 
day.  Far  over  it  floated  a  mass  of  white  cloud  which 
seemed  now  a  Madonna  looking  down  with  pity,  now 
an  eagle  with  spread  wings  and  curved  beak. 

Presently  church-bells  sounded  across  the  distance  ; 
suggestions  above  the  smoke-roof,  fairer  than  the 


THE    WORM  OF  SPINDLETON.  39 

white  cloud-shapes,  were  wafted  into  the  saunterer's 
mind,  and  he  rose  from  his  wayside  stone  to  seek  the 
city.  The  sunshine  was  gradually  extinguished  as  he 
came  within  the  black  coils  of  Spindleton.  He  passed 
a  little  Bethel  offering  itself  as  the  fount  of  living 
waters  ;  a  small  brick  Zion  where  some  were  recogniz- 
ing the  shekinah  ;  and  at  length  an  organ-peal  allured 
him  into  a  stately  Gothic  edifice,  whose  tower  looked 
proudly  down  on  the  poor  conventicles  beneath.  It 
was  a  fine  interior  ;  the  congregation  was  fashionably 
dressed,  the  choir  sang  sweetly.  The  preacher  was 
handsome,  with  a  ruddy  eupeptic  look,  middle-aged, 
gold-spectacled,  a  model  of  respectability.  His  sermon 
was  a  rebuke  of  those  who  are  "  wise  above  what  is 
written,"  among  whom  he  included  agitators  trying  to 
interfere  with  the  institutions  of  the  country.  It  was 
nothing  to  those  fanatics,  about  to  meet  in  Spindleton, 
that  patriarchs  held  slaves,  or  that  Paul  returned  the 
fugitive  to  his  master  ;  fancying  themselves  wiser  than 
Abraham  or  Paul,  they  were  really  dangerous  infidels 
undermining  all  authority.  This  part  of  the  sermon 
evidently  gave  much  satisfaction. 

There  were  only  three  or  four  in  the  congregation 
who  looked  like  work  people.  As  all  were  going  off 
our  workman  observed  an  elderly  man  in  coarse  dress, 
whose  face,  or  its  momentary  expression,  interested 
him.  He  followed  him  a  little  way,  then  came  to  his 
side  and  accosted  him. 

"  Fine  weather,  sir." 

"  Yes,  stranger,  weather's  good  enough." 

"  Saw  you  in  church  ;  what  did  you  think  of  the 
sermon  ? " 


40  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  Well,  sermon's  good  enough  fur  a  sermon,  fur's 
thet  goes,  but  he'd  oughter  had  a  cotton-bale  fur  his 
pulpit." 

"  A  cotton-bale  !  " 

"  Jess  so.  That's  wut  it  all  meant.  He  was  preachin* 
to  fine-dressed  bales  in  the  pews,  and  you  and  me  was 
the  spools.  Every  body  'bout  here's  either  bale  or 
spool." 

"  I've  heard  that  cotton  is  king." 

''  Then  ye've  heard  wrong  ;  Cotton  is  Goda- 
mighty." 

"  You're  in  a  cynical  mood  to-day." 

"  A  wut  ?  " 

"You're  in  a  comical  mood  to-day." 

"  Strikes  me  that  wasn't  jess  wut  ye  said  afore. 
Must  'a'  been  pickin'  up  fine  words  som'ers.  AVorkin' 
in  the  mills  ?  " 

"  Just  come.     Mean  to  try  for  work  to-morrow." 

"Well,  they'll  card  ye  inter  fine  shirtin's,  an'  yer  big 
words  too.  This  be  my  way.  Good-day  to  ye." 

The  younger  workman  walked  slowly  away  with  a 
dubious  look,  as  if  not  satisfied  with  the  conversation. 
After  moving  some  thirty  paces  he  turned,  and  saw 
the  old  man  gazing  after  him.  He  stopped  and 
returned  the  gaze  stolidly,  upon  which  the  other 
beckoned,  and  the  two  met  half  way. 

"  Young  man,  I  should  like  to  know  jess  why  ye 
spoke  to  me  jess  now." 

"  I  thought  I'd  like  to  make  an  acquaintance,  for  I 
don't  know  a  soul  in  Spindleton, — no  offense  meant." 

"  No,  there's  no  offense.  P'r'aps  ye'll  obleege  me 
with  yer  name." 


THE    WORM   OF  SPINDLETON.  4! 

'  Brooks, — Peter  Brooks." 

The  elder  workman's  eyes  probed  the  younger  very 
keenly  for  the  few  more  minutes  of  cross-examina- 
tion, but  in  the  end  his  voice  grew  more  friendly. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Brooks,  ez  ye're  minded  to  know  some- 
thing about  the  Spindleton  fellers,  maybe  ye  kin 
come  'round  to-night  to  the  Out-an'-Outers.  No  end 
o'  gab,  an'  'taint  allers  wuth  much,  but  ye'll  find  how 
the  wind  sets.  'Bout  seven." 

"  Where  ?  and  may  I  give  your  name  at  the 
door  ?  " 

"  Room  back  o'  Baxter's  Bar.  'Taint  exactly  pri- 
vate, seats  free,  but  only  workmen  allowed.  Ef  it's 
wanted,  my  name's  Jethuel  Minor.  Pretty  well  known, 
but  not  a  pop'lar  character.  Good-day  agin." 

Peter  walked  through  several  dingy  streets  to  the 
tenement  which  for  thirty-six  hours  had  been  his 
abode.  It  was  the  boarding-house  of  seven  or  eight 
workmen  without  families,  who  were  already  lounging 
about  the  dining-room  waiting  for  their  meal.  This 
consisted  of  cold  pork  and  beans,  which  the  men 
swallowed  rapidly,  as  if  eager  to  be  at  something  else. 
After  the  repast  the  new-comer  was  approached,  with 
some  shyness,  by  a  fellow-boarder. 

"  Take  a  hand  at  high-low-jack  ?  " 

"  Don't  mind." 

The  game  was  played  in  an  upper  room,  and  for 
cent  stakes.  Peter  soon  lost  some  dimes.  His  stoi- 
cism under  steady  bad  luck  raised  him  in  the  esteem 
of  the  others,  and  when  at  length  he  rose  to  go,  sev- 
eral hands  were  offered  which  he  did  not  appear  to  see. 

Out  into  the  street  again  went  Brooks,  intending  to 


42  PINE  AND  PALM. 

make  a  tour  of  the  poorer  quarters.  But  he  soon  wearied 
of  this.  The  sad  sameness  of  every  thing  and  every 
body ;  the  endless  rows  of  small  houses  broken  at 
intervals  with  squalid  barracks  of  the  ragged  regi- 
ments of  toil  ;  the  group  of  loafers  at  the  street- 
corner  which,  after  he  had  passed,  turned  up  at  the 
next,  as  if  all  had  slipped  around  to  waylay  him 
again  with  vacant  or  sullen  stares  ;  all  this  produced 
in  his  soul  a  hard  depression,  like  that  written  on  the 
whole  face  of  Spindleton  as  it  toiled  through  its  task- 
less  Sabbath.  He  paused  to  read  the  advertisement 
of  a  "  Spiritual  Seance  "  to  be  held  that  evening.  It 
announced  that  Mrs.  Ellerton,  the  celebrated  Trance 
Speaker,  would  "  deliver  an  inspirational  poem  on  a 
subject  selected  by  the  audience  ;  "  that  "  Dr.  Abel 
Dovedale  would  hold  a  seance  ;  "  and  that  "  Raphail 
Summerland  would  voice  the  spirit-breathings  at  the 
harmonium."  As  he  turned  away  from  this,  a  thread- 
bare colporteur  placed  in  his  hand  a  tract  against 
"Lying  Spirits."  Peter  Brooks  then  returned  to  his 
lodging-house,  took  some  sips  of  a  dismal  decoction 
called  coffee,  and  consoled  himself  in  his  room  with  a 
smoke. 

Brooks  was  glanced  at  sharply  that  evening  as  he 
passed  through  Baxter's  bar-room  to  a  half  open  door, 
beyond  which  he  found  the  assemblage  of  Out-and- 
Outers.  He  took  his  seat  in  the  lower  part  of  the 
room,  with  an  air  of  familiarity  which  was  presently 
put  to  confusion  ;  for  when  a  boy  asked  him  what  he 
would  take,  he  replied  "nothing."  He  was  informed 
that  the  room  was  paid  for  by  every  body  taking  some- 
thing. He  then  asked  for  "  grog," — a  generic  anach- 


THE    WORM  OF  SPIfrDLETON.  43 

ronism  which  raised  a  laugh  around  him,  amid 
which  a  man  said  "  Bring  the  stranger  an  eye-opener." 
Then  Brooks  laughed,  but  nobody  else  did  ;  he  found 
it  was  no  joke  ;  nor  was  it  a  joke  to  sip  the  "  eye- 
opener  "  when  it  was  brought.  The  new-comer  longed 
to  be  invisible,  and  made  himself  as  small  as  possible. 
There  were  about  eighty  persons  present,  counting 
by  heads,  but,  counting  by  heads'  contents,  only  two 
— Jethuel  Minor,  and  the  seventy-nine-necked  Out- 
and-Outerism  opposing  him.  Jethuel  must  have  been 
speaking  before  Brooks  arrived,  for  when  presently 
a  small  man,  with  flat  ashen  face  arose,  the  whispers 
went  round—"  Miller,"  "  Englisher,"  "  Now  Jethuel 
'11  catch  it !  "  Mr.  Miller,  from  whom  so  much  was 
expected,  began  in  a  high  key  and  screamed  invec- 
tives till  his  voice  gave  way.  The  capitalist  was  the 
devouring  dragon  against  which  his  rage  was  directed. 
He  lived  in  a  palace,  dined  on  roast  turkey  hevery  day, 
drank  wine  like  a  lord,  never  siled  his  kid  gloves  with 
work,  wile  we  slaves  for  'im  and  'ardly  get  the  crumbs 
from  'is  table.  Very  likely  his  lordship  'as  'is  favrits 
—  a  sarcastic  bow  to  Jethuel — who  'ave  a  good 
word  to  say  for  'im.  [Laughter.]  Wen  a  feller  'as  a 
bit  o'  the  turkey  'e  can  afford  to  say  grace.  For  these 
hand  all  other  musseys  the  Lord  make  us  thankful  ! 
[Loud  laughter.]  But  there's  a  thousand  'ungry 
mouths  in  Spindleton  for  hevery  one  that  gets  enough 
to  say  grace  over.  Capital's  grindin'  the  face  of  the 
widdy  and  horphan  !  Capital's  a-robbin'  'ard-'anded 
labor  of  'elth  and  'appiness.  [Applause,  after  which, 
while  the  orator  took  a  sip  of  something,  Jethuel  said, 
"Tell  us  wut  ye're  agoin'  to  do  about  it,  Danby  Miller."] 


44  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  What  am  I  agoin'  to  do  ?  Mr.  Minor  wants  to  know 
what  I  am  agoin'  to  do.  I'll  soon  tell  him  what  I'm 
agoin'  to  do.  [Another  sip  from  the  glass,  continuous 
throat-clearing,  and  other  dilatory  items  suggesting 
that  the  Englishman's  prescription  was  not  quite 
ready.]  Capital's  got  to  disgorge.  It's  got  to  give  us 
shorter  howers  an'  more  wages.  ["  S'pose  it  won't," 
said  JethueL]  S'pose  it  won't !  Then  s'pose  we  won't 
work.  ["  Will  that  bring  yer  turkey  ye're  so  fond 
of?  "]  Well,  it'll  make  the  grass  grow  in  the  streets  o' 
Spindleton.  If  capitalists  'aven't  got  'earts  they've 
got  'ides,  and  we  can  take  it  out  of  their  'ides." 

Some  applause  followed  this  retort  and  the  speaker 
was  quick  enough  to  perceive  that  he  had  better  stop 
there.  He  was  the  most  glib  of  the  majority's  tongues, 
but  a  more  impressive  utterance  was  given  to  the  bit- 
terness deep  in  the  workmen's  souls  by  the  faltering 
and  sullen  wrath  of  others  who  followed.  These  men 
were  unable  to  save  anything  from  their  wages  ;  there 
was  no  spark  before  them  which  hope  might  keep 
alive  with  dreams  of  its  one  day  flaming  above  their 
desert  and  leading  them  out  of  bondage.  The  raison 
d'etre  of  Out-and-Outerism  was  hopelessness  ;  its  only 
relief  was  a  war-cry  as  hopeless  as  its  pain. 

"Wall,  stranger,  what's  your  idee?  " 

Brooks  affected  unconsciousness  that  this  question 
was  addressed  to  himself.  It  came  from  a  fellow 
whom  he  promptly  brevetted  "bully,"  and  whose 
eyes  had  several  times  stared  at  him  with  sullen  spite. 
This  fellow  now  whispered  to  some  near  him,  and 
they  all  clamored  for  the  "  stranger "  to  pronounce 
under  which  king  he  had  enlisted. 


THE    WORM  OF  SPINDLETON.  45 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say." 

It  may  seem  an  innocent  remark,  but  as  Brooks 
uttered  it  the  room  became  sultry  with  suspicion.  It 
was  not  the  voice  of  a  workingman.  A  thrush  may 
pass  for  a  wren  so  long  as  it  is  silent.  Peter  Brooks' 
short  speech  had  not  only  betrayed  him,  it  had  revealed 
a  lot  of  things  about  him  that  he  never  dreamed  of. 

"  NothhV  to  say  !  " 

"  But  keeps  up  a  devil  of  a  thinkin'  ?  " 

"  Mum's  the  word  !  " 

"  How  much  d'ye  git  for  the  job  ? " 

Such  were  the  sarcastic  cries  that  hurtled  through 
the  room.  Brooks  sat  silent,  but  there  was  an  amused 
look  on  his  face  at  which  the  crowd  waxed  wroth. 

"  Who  brought  the  spy  ?  "  cried  the  seventy-nine 
throated  Out-and-Outer. 

"  Don't  be  fools,"  said  Jethuel,  rising  ;  "  I  met  that 
man  for  the  first  time  to-day,  by  accident,  an'  seein' 
he  was  a  workman  an'  a  stranger,  asked  him  to  come 
'round.  What's  he  done  that  you  should  all  o'  sudden 
take  to  worryin'  him  ? " 

"  Oh,  he's  your  friend,  is  he  ?  " 

"  Thought  so." 

u  Damn  all  such " 

"  One  moment,  gentlemen  !  " 

As  Brooks  said  this,  rising  to  his  full  height,  there 
was  a  hush. 

"  I  am  a  stranger  in  your  town  ;  I  have  been  here 
two  days  ;  I  hope  to  get  work  in  a  mill  to-morrow. 
That  is  as  much  as  I  choose  to  say  about  myself  just 
now.  If  any  body  chooses  to  think  any  thing  more 
about  my  affairs  he's  welcome — provided  he  keeps  a 


46  PINE  AND  PALM. 

civil  tongue.  I  came  here  to  learn  something  about 
the  people  I'm  going  to  live  among.  I've  learned 
enough  for  one  night,  and  now  I'm  going  to  bed." 

"  No,  you  ain't,"  cried  the  bully,  stalking  to  the 
door,  "  things  ain't  settled  yet." 

"  Settle  them  to  suit  yourselves,  but  allow  me  to 
pass." 

"  No,  you  don't  !  " 

In  another  instant  the  bully  was  spinning  among 
the  benches  and  Brooks  quietly  moving  through 
Baxter's  bar-room.  As  he  reached  the  street  he 
touched  a  package  of  documents  in  his  breast  pocket, 
which,  had  they  been  handled  by  the  Out-and-Outers, 
might  have  made  his  teapot  tempest  serious. 

"  A  spy  !  "  said  Brooks,  as  he  lay  on  a  bed  softened 
only  by  his  weariness.  "  Precisely  !  " 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE     COTTON     WITCH. 

IT  was  in  the  days  of  the  Cotton  Witch,  whose  mira- 
cles seem  incredible  to  the  young  generation, — • 
how  she  took  certain  malvacean  plants,  with  capsules 
of  white  wool,  of  these  made  men,  and  so  decorated 
them  that  they  were  chosen  rulers  and  divines.  One 
day  the  Cotton  Witch  took  a  notion  to  unmake  what 
she  had  made  ;  she  fired  a  gun — and  lo  !  all  the  mal- 
vacean princes  and  priests  disappeared.  Some  now 
say  that  this  fantastic  creation  of  the  Cotton  Witch 
never  existed, — none  who  belong  to  it  being  discov- 
erable,— but  they  are  mistaken  ;  the  splendid  cotton 
people  really  lived,  and  Spindleton  was  their  capital. 

Peter  Brooks  sought  work  at  the  Union  Mills,  but 
there  was  no  work  to  be  had  there  ;  there  were  more 
than  a  hundred  applications  on  file.  As  he  was  about 
to  leave,  a  gentleman,  who  had  just  been  conversing 
with  some  others,  accosted  him. 

"  What  is  it  you  want,  my  man  ? " 

"  Work,  sir." 

"  Ah,  we  are  overstocked,  but  I  hear  they  want 
hands  at  the  Print  Works,  Prescott  Street." 

Brooks  hastened  to  the  Print;  Works,  and  the  mana- 
ger there  put  some  questions  to  him. 

"  What  region  are  you  from  ?  "  he  asked  at  last. 


4^  PINE  AND  PALM, 

"  South." 

"  It  isn't  often  we  have  applications  from  that  sec- 
tion. We  may  find  a  place  for  you  next  week.  Mean- 
time if  you  will  call  on  Captain  Meshach  Jones,  num- 
ber ninety,  lower  door,  he  may  be  glad  to  see  you. 
Tell  him  you  are  from  the  South,  don't  forget 
that." 

Captain  Meshach  Jones  was  not  found  at  any  Mills, 
but  in  the  back  room  of  a  small  unfurnished  house, 
into  which  Brooks  was  ushered  by  an  ingeniously  ugly 
doorkeeper.  The  captain  was  of  middle  age,  black  with 
broadcloth  from  head  to  foot ;  but  for  his  red  nose 
he  might  have  been  mistaken  for  a  preacher.  Our 
workman  did  not  find  him  prepossessing — especially 
not  his  white  eyes,  one  of  which  by  a  cross  movement 
seemed  trying  to  cover  the  over-curious  stare  of  the 
other.  His  face — the  nose  excepted — was  colorless, 
and  it  was  a  cracked  voice  that  said  to  the  ugly  usher, 
"  You  can  go,  Scully." 

"  Well,  sir,  what  do  you  want  ? "  said  the  captain 
to  Brooks. 

"  Work." 

"  Who  sent  you  to  me  ?  " 

"  Manager  at  the  Print  Works  near  by." 

"  Ah — take  a  seat." 

As  Brooks  looked  round  for  a  chair  he  glanced  out 
of  the  window  and  saw  a  group  of  roughs  in  the 
back  yard. 

u  Where  are  you  from  ? "  asked  the  captain  in  a 
friendly  way. 

"  I've  been  working  near  Boston." 

"  Do  you  belong  to  any  party  in  politics  ?  " 


THE   COTTON    WITCH.  49 

"  Does  that  make  any  difference  in  my  getting 
work  ? " 

"  Well,  you  see — the  manager  at  the  Print  Works 
don't  know  it,  oh  no,  don't  suppose  he  knows  it — but 
it  isn't  mill-hands  we  are  wantin'  to-day.  There's  a 
political  matter  on  hand,  and  I  told  him  if  he  met  any 
workmen  out  of  work  I'd  like  to  see  them.  He  must 
have  known  you  are  of  the  right  stripe — that  is — ah — 
he  must  have  known  you  were  out  of  work.  Oh,  bless 
you,  he  don't  know  no  more'n  a  child  !  " 

While  Brooks  was  debating  whether  "  Whig  "or 
"  Democrat "  were  trumps,  he  saw  distrust  gathering 
in  Captain  Meshach's  cross  eye,  and  said,  "  I'm  a 
Democrat." 

"  A  fine  able-bodied  fellow,  too,  Mr. — didn't  catch 
the  name  ?  " 

"  Brooks." 

"  Well,  you  see,  Mr.  Brooks,  times  are  bad  for  us 
up  here,  in  the  cotton  business.  The  southern  people 
are  getting  mad.  They've  been  writin'  from  the 
plantations  to  our  leading  men  in  Spindleton  that  they 
won't  stand  this  abolition  business  any  longer.  They 
say  they'll  make  grass  to  grow  in  the  streets  of  Spin- 
dleton. Think  of  that  !  Well,  the  question  is,  what's 
to  be  done  ?  Now  what  do  you  say,  Mr.  Brooks?  " 

Brooks  shook  his  head  solemnly  and  dubiously. 

"  You're  out  of  work.  Thousands  are  out  of  work, 
and  the  abolitionists  want  to  make  Spindleton  swarm 
with  niggers  to  take  the  bread  out  of  your  mouth. 
And  where  will  the  work  be  and  the  bread  when  the 
South  ships  all  the  cotton  to  Europe— all  because  o' 
them  pesky  abolitionists?  That's  what  they  say. 


50  PINE  AND  PALM. 

They  are  publishin'  all  the  northern  firms  that  ain't 
friendly  to  the  South,  and  all  places  where  the  aboli- 
tionists are  allowed  to  hold  meetin's.  And,  would  you 
believe  it,  they've  got  Spindleton  down  !  It  was  sent 
to  one  of  our  bosses  in  a  Georgia  paper,  and  it's  in 
that  drawer.  Does  seem  to  have  been  a  little  aboli- 
tion mee.tin'  here  six  months  back,  kind  o'  private 
like,  but  none  o'  the  boys  hearn  of  it.  But  the  abo- 
litionists have  give  out  for  a  big  meetin'  Thursday 
night  in  the  nigger  meetin'-house.  What  do  you 
think  of  that,  Mr.  Brooks  ?  Are  we  a-goin'  to  allow 
that  ?  " 

"What  can  be  done?" 

"  Done,  Mr.  Brooks  !  What  was  done  at  Riceport 
the  other  day,  where  not  one  of  the  infidel  set  went 
away  with  a  sound  skin  !  It's  the  Lord's  work — it  is. 
They're  all  infidels.  Why,  one  of  them  lit  a  match 
and  burnt  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States — 
burnt  it  to  a  cinder.  A  man  told  me  he  seen  it  done 
with  his  own  eyes,  and  wondered  it  didn't  bring  down 
a  judgment.  Are  we  again  to  stand  that  kind  o' 
atheism  in  Spindleton  ?  " 

"  Should  think  not,"  said  Brooks. 

"  Any  family  ? "  inquired  Captain  Meshach,  ten- 
derly. 

"None." 

44  Them  that  obeys  orders  this  week  gets  five  dollars 
down  and  five  one  week  from  to-day,  and  more  if  they 
get  into  trouble,  and  sure  of  a  place  in  the  mills  if 
they  want  it." 

"  I  must  think  over  this,"  said  Brooks,  rising. 

The  captain's  straight  eye  glared  at  him  an  instant, 


THE   COTTON    WITCH.  51 

the  cross  eye  searched  him  successfully,  the  thin  lips 
spoke  unctuously. 

"  Of  course  we  don't  expect  trouble,  Mr.  Brooks, 
but  we  must  be  prepared  for  the  worst  when  excitin' 
meetin's  like  this  takes  place.  Our  citizens  are  nater- 
ally  excited  and  may  be  roused  to  violence.  We  must 
have  men  on  hand  to — to  keep  order." 

"  To  keep  order  !  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Brooks,  to  keep  order.  Hope  I've  not 
been  misunderstood  ?  " 

"  I  think  not." 

"  I  hope  not.  We  must  do  our  best  to  keep  order, 
and  when  we're  warned  of  danger  we  must  employ 
extra  men.  This  duty  has  been  allotted  to  me,  and  I 
must  perform  it  to  the  best  of  my  humble  ability.  I 
may  be  abused  and  slandered — slandered,  sir — for 
my  efforts  to  discharge  my  duty,  but  that  duty  shall 
be  fearlessly  done." 

"  Good  morning,  Captain  Jones." 

"  Good  morning.  It's  my  official  duty  to  admonish 
you  not  to  mention  any  thing  said  in  this  room." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Brooks,  with  an  affectation  of 
meekness  which  made  Captain  Meshach  livid. 

"  This  way,"  said  the  captain,  opening  a  door  into 
the  inclosure  of  the  roughs,  "  you'll  find  a  gate  at  the 
bottom  of  the  yard." 

The  rowdies  gazed  at  Brooks  as  he  passed,  and  when 
he  had  disappeared  Captain  Meshach  went  out  to  them. 

"  Boys,"  he  said,  "  he's  an  abolition  spy.  If  you  see 
him  about  anywhere  a  good  handlin'  won't  do  any 
harm  ;  but  be  careful  ;  he's  strong  and  likely  to  be 
(jangerous.  He  oughtn't  to  be  there  Thursday." 


52  PINE  AND  PALM. 

A  few  hours  later  Brooks  was  at  the  anti-slavery 
rooms  in  Boston  telling  the  story  ;  after  which  he  at 
once  returned  to  Spindleton. 

The  abolitionists  held  their  meeting  in  Spindle- 
ton,  and  mustered  all  the  stronger  because  of  the 
information  Brooks  brought  them  ;  for  that  peculiar 
people  delighted  to  ftock  where  they  were  least  wanted. 
Stephen  Foster  was  there  with  his  bitter  arraignment 
of  the  clergy,  as  dumb  dogs  whose  cowardice  was 
guilty  of  all  done  by  the  wolves.  His  startling  gen- 
eralization was  illustrated  by  the  crushed  hat  he  wore 
and  a  coat  picturesquely  split  down  the  back.  "  This 
hat,"  he  said,  "  was  battered  in  by  the  church  in  Rice- 
port,  and  this  coat  "  (turning  his  back  to  the  audience) 
"  was  torn  by  the  ministers  of  Christ  in  Vermont." 

"  Damned  infidels  all  of  you  !  "    shouted  a  voice. 

"  What  church  in  Spindleton  do  you  preach  in  ?  " 
cried  Foster. 

Splash  went  an  egg  into  the  speaker's  face,  followed 
by  a  mad  yell  from  the  crowd.  The  roughs  rose  en 
masse,  showing  themselves  to  be  two-thirds  of  those 
present. 

"  At  'em,  boys  !  "  cried  a  ringleader. 

Straightway  the  mob  began  climbing  over  the 
benches  toward  the  pulpit,  waving  sticks  and  roaring. 
The  front  benches  were  occupied  by  abolitionists, 
chiefly  women,  who  made  gallant  obstruction  and  were 
considerably  bruised.  The  mob  was  determined  to 
get  at  the  leading  abolitionists  who  sat  in  front  of  the 
pulpit.  Garrison's  beaming  face  was  visible  above 
the  raging  mass  he  vainly  tried  to  still.  The  melodi- 
ous voice  of  Phillips  was  drowned  as  a  flute  might  bs 


THE    COTTON    WITCH.  53 

by  drums.  Angry  yells  greeted  the  colored  orator 
Charles  Remond.  Matters  began  to  look  serious 
enough  ;  the  mob  evidently  meant  mischief.  Suddenly 
a  stentorian  voice  near  the  door  cried — "  Let's  hang 
that  nigger,  any  way  !  " 

Just  then  from  a  remote  corner  stepped  forward  a 
quaint  little  man,  with  large  luminous  eye,  whom  few 
even  of  the  anti-slavery  men  recognized  as  Thoreau, 
and  placed  himself  in  front  of  the  rush,  so  quietly — as 
if  he  did  not  see  it — that  the  crowd  was  surprised  into 
momentary  stillness.  "  Doubtless/'  he  said,  "  you  all 
remember  that  fine  passage  in  the  Bhagavatgita  where 
Krishna  says  to  Arjuna,  Thou  and  I  have  met  many 
times."  The  mob  was  breathless.  "  I  may  now  say 
that  you  and  I  have  met  in  various  ages  of  the  world." 
Here  somebody  exploded  in  a  laugh,  which  made  the 
crowd  laugh.  The  mob  that  laughs  is  lost.  The  ring- 
leaders vainly  tried  to  rally  their  forces.  Thoreau 
was  heard  to  the  end  of  his  estimate  of  how  many 
births  the  mob  and  the  abolitionists  had  gone  through. 
A  few  howls  and  cat-calls  were  all  that  could  be 
achieved  against  the  subsequent  speakers,  and  a  "  suc- 
cessful meeting  in  Spindleton  "  was  reported  in  next 
week's  Liberator. 

It  was  from  that  paper  that  our  workman,  Peter 
Brooks,  learned  the  particulars  of  the  meeting.  He 
had  set  his  heart  on  being  present,  but  alas,  while 
these  scenes  were  occurring,  he  was  withheld  by 
inglorious  repose  in  a  cell  of  Spindleton  police-station. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

FRAULEIN     ROSE. 

ON  the  day  following  his  interview  with  Captain 
Meshach  Jones,  Peter  Brooks  had  again  tried  to 
obtain  employment,  but  in  vain.  In  the  evening  he 
went  to  a  Music  Hall,  and  found  a  dismal  perform- 
ance going  on.  It  was  a  company  of  roughs  instead 
of  the  workmen  whom  Brooks  hoped  to  meet  there  ; 
and  there  were  no  women  at  all  except  those  who 
appeared  from  time  to  time  on  the  wretched  little  stage. 
These  were  tawdry  and  tiresome  enough,  and  our 
workman  was  about  to  leave,  when  he  observed  a  fel- 
low staring  at  him  impudently,  and  apparently  speak- 
ing of  him  to  three  others  drinking  with  him.  Brooks 
was  by  this  time  accustomed  to  the  rude  glances  that 
greeted  a  stranger  at  Spindleton, — result,  perhaps,  of 
instinctive  hostility  to  a  new  competitor  for  wages, — 
but  this  fellow's  look  was  unusually  sinister. 

At  this  moment  the  pianist  announced  that  a  Ger- 
man cantatrice,  Fralilein  Rose,  would  appear  for  the 
first  time  in  the  United  States,  and  sing  in  the  peasant 
costume  of  her  country.  The  Fraiilein  was  very  dif- 
ferent from  the  preceding  singers  ;  she  was  modest, 
pretty,  fresh,  and  began  her  ballad  with  a  clear  sweet 
voice.  But  her  broken  English  was  received  with 
derision  and  grotesque  mimicry.  The  interruptions; 


FRA  ULEIN  ROSE.  55 

began  so  immediately  that  Brooks  suspected  a  con- 
spiracy ;  and  when  somebody  called  out  "  Let  the 
girl  have  a  chance,"  he  applauded  vigorously.  Just 
then  loud  hisses  broke  out,  and  the  poor  girl  moved 
from  the  stage  weeping.  Brooks  could  not  repress  a 
cry  of  "  Shame  !  "  and  at  that  moment  heard  a  brutal 
voice  beside  him.  "  Is  that  your  girl  ?" 

Brooks  recognized  the  fellow  who  had  been  inspect- 
ing him  so  insolently,  and  lost  his  temper. 

"  Puppy  ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  speak  when  you're 
spoken  to." 

The  fellow  raised  his  stick,  and  was  felled  with  a 
blow.  Instantly  two  others  leaped  on  Brooks,  and 
when  one  of  these  was  disabled,  another  rushed 
viciously  at  our  workman  and  clutched  his  right  arm. 

"  Four  to  one's  hardly  fair,"  called  a  voice  from  the 
circle  that  pressed  around,  and  somebody  grappled 
one  of  the  assailants.  The  fight  threatened  to  extend, 
when  the  saloon-keeper  and  pianist  managed  to  stop 
it.  Then  policemen  rushed  in,  and  finding  Brooks 
with  two  men  at  his  feet  arrested  the  three.  They 
were  marched  to  the  station  and  there  ushered  into 
the  presence  of  Captain  Meshach  Jones. 

Brooks  saw  a  sparkle  in  the  captain's  cross  eye,  but 
the  straight  one  stared  on  and  gave  no  sign.  He 
wrote  down  the  accusation,  "  causing  disturbance  in 
a  saloon,"  with  the  name,  age,  and  address  given  by 
each  prisoner,  and  nodded  toward  an  inner  door. 

"  Take  the  prisoner  Brooks  into  number  five,  and 
come  back  for  the  others." 

As  Brooks  passed  out  he  gave  a  steady  look  at  one 
pf  his  assailants  ;  he  thought  he  had  seen  him  before 


56  PINE  AND  PALM. 

that  evening,  and  carried  the  fellow's  photograph  in 
his  eye.  About  midnight  he  remembered  that  it  was 
Scully,  the  captain's  ugly  usher. 

Only  on  the  third  morning  after  the  fray  was  Brooks 
brought  before  the  magistrate,  who  asked  why  he  had 
not  been  brought  earlier.  He  was  told  that  there 
seemed  to  be  some  mystery  about  this  prisoner  and  it 
was  suspected  that  he  had  given  a  false  name.  There 
had  been  delay  for  inquiries,  but  nothing  had  been 
discovered,  and  no  one  appeared  against  him. 

Soon  after  his  discharge  Brooks  read  a  report  of 
the  riot  at  the  anti-slavery  meeting  the  evening  before, 
and  suspected  the  reason  why  his  case  was  postponed. 
He  resolved,  too,  to  postpone  his  case  against  Captain 
Meshach,  and  to  leave  Spindleton.  Personal  encoun- 
ters there  were  becoming  monotonous,  and  he  was  in 
danger  of  becoming  famous.  He  would  go  and  try 
Peacefield,  whose  name  at  least  promised  repose.  It 
required  but  one  more  evening  to  settle  his  small 
affairs  at  Spindleton,  and  next  morning  he  was  at  the 
depot  ready  for  the  early  train. 

While  so  waiting  our  workman  observed  a  young- 
woman  dragging  a  wooden  trunk  along  the  platform, 
and  hastened  to  her  assistance.  When  she  looked 
up  to  thank  him  he  recognized  in  her  the  German 
singer  who  had  fared  so  badly  in  the  saloon.  She 
presently  sat  on  the  box  ;  and  as  Brooks  paced  the 
platform  he  saw  tears  in  her  eyes.  He  debated  within 
himself  whether  he  should  speak  to  her.  Her  con- 
tinued distress  in  the  car,  where  they  presently  sat, 
almost  alone,  determined  him.  He  saw  that  she  was 
an  honest  simple-minded  woman,  and  in  trouble, 


FRA  ULEIN  ROSE.  5  7 

Taking  a  seat  near  her  he  said  in  German,  "  You  are 
in  trouble,  and  seem  to  be  alone."  Her  eyes  filled 
with  tears  again  ;  she  gazed  silently  out  of  the  window 
for  some  moments,  then  looked  into  the  eyes  of  her 
neighbor. 

"You  speak  German,"  she  said,  "but  you  are  not 
German?" 

"  I  am  not.  I  saw  you  Tuesday  evening  at  the 
Music  Hall  and  was  angry  at  your  outrageous  treat- 
ment." 

"  It  was  all  planned  beforehand.  Here  are  letters 
telling  me  I  would  not  be  allowed  to  sing  there." 

"It  is  infamous,"  said  Brooks,  looking  over  the 
scrawls. 

"  The  manager  wants  to  be  rid  of  two  other  girls 
there;  but  their  friends  plot  against  every  new  singer. 
He  told  me." 

"  You  must  have  been  in  need  before  you  could  go 
to  such  a  place,  Fraiilein " 

"  Rose — Mathilde  Rose  is  my  name.  Yes,  I  have 
very  little  money  and  no  friends.  Mr.  Senker — he 
that  keeps  that  saloon,  his  father  is  a  Hanoverian  like 
me — could  not  help  me  with  more  than  a  dollar,  but 
gives  me  a  letter  to  one  in  Peacefield  who  may  get  me 
some  work.  At  home,  near  Verden,  I  got  up  little 
plays  at  Christmas  and  Fastnacht;  I  had  a  pretty 
dress,  from  our  carnival,  and  hoped  to  earn  something 
at  a  beer-house  concert.  My  father  taught  me 
English;  he  learned  it  in  England." 

Here  she  broke  down  again.  Our  workman  could 
not  make  up  his  mind  to  leave  this  poor  Fraiilein  to  her 
fate,  but  was  sore  puzzled  about  the  way  to  assist  her. 


58  PINE  AND  PALM. 

11  Can  I  help  you  in  any  way  ?  "  he  presently  said. 

"  You  are  kind,  you  can  not  help  me.  I  came  from 
Germany  to  find  my  Franz,  but  can  not  ;  now  I  must 
give  up.*' 

Her  blush  rendered  it  needless  to  inquire  her  rela- 
tionship to  Franz.  The  mention  of  that  name  made 
her  feel  that  she  had  taken  this  casual  friend  into  her 
confidence,  and  indeed  the  Fraiilein  was  plainly  glad 
to  talk  with  any  one  whose  tone  was  kind. 

"  How  did  Franz  come  to  leave  you  ? "  asked 
Brooks. 

u  Do  not  think  it  was  his  fault;  no,  my  Franz  is  true. 
My  father  did  not  like  him  ;  he  would  not  let  us  meet. 
Franz  came  from  Baden  to  a  farm  near  us,  but  he  had 
no  relations,  and  he  went  to  America.  My  mother 
was  dead,  my  father  loved  me — his  only  child — I 
could  not  leave  him  ;  so  Franz  had  to  give  me  up. 
My  poor  father  was  drowned  ;  out  of  his  money  near 
three  hundred  thalers  came  to  me,  and  then  I  must  be 
in  the  same  fatherland  with  Franz.  My  money  is 
gone,  I  can  yet  work  for  bread.  If  I  get  not  work  I 
can  die,  and  not  be  sorry." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  from  Franz  after  he  sailed  ? " 

"  One  letter  came  and  my  father  found  me  reading 
it ;  he  snatched,  he  burned  it.  I  had  not  yet  noticed 
the  address,  but  on  the  envelope  is  "  Boston."  I 
hoped  it  was  a  little  place,  and  that  he  might  get  the 
letter  I  wrote  there,  but  I  never  heard  from  him 
except  that  once  after  he  left  Bremen." 

"  Do  you  know  just  when  he  left  Bremen,  and  the 
name  of  the  ship?  " 

"  Yes;  it  was  April  loth,  last  year,  on  the  Silesia. 


&RAVLEIN  ROSE.  59 

Oh  sir,  is  it  possible  to  learn  any  thing  of  him  by 
that  ?  " 

"  I  fear  not,  but  we  can  try,"  said  Brooks,  writing 
down  the  items. 

The  engine  screamed  ;  Peacefield  was  near.  Our 
good  Samaritan  found  this  case  sufficiently  embarrass- 
ing. The  oil  and  wine  required  were  not  of  the  kind 
that  money  could  buy. 

"  Where  are  you  going  in  Peacefield  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Heman  Wilder,  Boarding  House,  37  Merrimac 
St.,"  she  read,  from  a  letter  in  her  hand. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Brooks,  copying  the  address  ; 
"  now  let  me  advise  you.  I  will  pay  a  man  to  take 
you  and  your  trunk  to  that  house.  Even  if  Heman 
Wilder  can  not  give  you  employment  you  had  better 
stay  in  his  house  for  a  time,  paying  board.  I  can  lend 
you  some  money.  At  any  rate  stay  there  till  you  see 
me  or  hear  from  me.  I  hope  to  call  this  afternoon, 
and  if  you  have  no  employment,  will  try  to  find  you 
some." 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  said  the  Fralilein,  trembling  ;  "  I 
am  frightened.  You  saw  me  in  that  low  place  at 
Spindleton,  where  good  men  do  not  go— and 
yet " 

"  Were  you  not  there  also,  Fraulein  ? "  said  Brooks, 
with  a  reassuring  smile.  "  I  believe  you  had  honest 
reason  to  be  there,  and  you  must  believe  the  same  of 
me." 

"  Did  you  see  the  fight  that  night  ?  Mr.  Sadler, 
that's  the  pianist,  said  a  man  took  my  side  and  was 
set  upon  by  the  men  who  hissed  me,  and  he  knocked 
them  down— Oh— oh  lieber  Gott !  it  was  you  !  " 


6o  PINE  AND  PALM. 

His  blush  under  the  Fraiilein's  clear  eyes  had 
betrayed  him. 

"  It  was  you,  it  was  you  !  "  she  said,  trembling  with 
emotion.  "  Are  you  a  prince  in  disguise  ?  Have  you 
met  me  to-day  on  purpose  ?  " 

"  No,  I  never  dreamed  of  seeing  you  again.  I  could 
not  get  work  in  the  Spindleton  Mills  and  am  going  to 
try  Peacefield." 

There  are  unconscious  expressions  that  can  not  be 
mistaken.  Fraiilein  Rose  looked  into  this  man's  face, 
then  at  his  coarse  dress  ;  through  the  surprise  in  her 
eyes  beamed  perfect  confidence. 

"  I  may  never  know  wrho  you  are,"  she  said,  in  a 
low,  reverent  tone,  "  but  you  have  lifted  a  weight 
under  which  I  was  sinking.  I  obey  you.  No — I  don't 
want  any  money  yet,  I  have  over  three  dollars  ;  but  I 
thank  you  from  my  heart,  little  as  that  may  help  you." 

"  It  helps  me  more  than  you  think,"  he  answered 
gently.  "  Now  remember  ;  remain  at  Heman  Wilder's 
till  you  see  or  hear  from  me.  On  this  paper  is  my 
name." 

At  Peacefield  depot  Brooks  paid  the  driver  of  an 
humble  conveyance  to  convey  the  Fratilein  to  her 
boarding-house.  For  himself  he  took  from  his  large 
wooden  box  a  fashionable  overcoat  and  hat,  with 
which  he  entered  the  toilet-room,  returning  presently 
with  some  garments  which  were  placed  in  his  box. 
At  the  hotel  to  which  he  drove  he  escaped  scrutiny, 
— but  his  box  !  That  huge  chest,  suitable  for  an  emi- 
grant, remained  ostentatiously  in  the  hotel  entry, 
a  problem  for  clerks  and  porters,  until  it  was  per- 
sonally demanded  by  its  owner — Randolph  Stirling. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

PEACEFIELD     PINES. 

ISSUING  from  his  hotel,  merry  at  relief  from  his 
1  masquerade,  Stirling  passes  through  the  main 
business  street  of  Peacefield,  makes  inquiry  of  a  way- 
farer, saunters  through  an  avenue  of  superb  elms  and 
edifices,  leaves  the  town  behind,  and  after  a  happy 
half  hour's  walk  stops  at  the  gate  of  the  old  mansion 
known  as  "  Peacefield  Pines."  The  spacious  lawn, 
the  flowers  and  trees,  were  so  beautiful  that  he  moved 
but  slowly  to  the  door.  There  he  asked  for  Mr. 
Derby  Leigh. 

"  He  is  in  Boston,  sir,"  said  the  rosy  maid-servant. 

"  And  Mrs.  Leigh  ?  " 

"  She  has  driven  into  town.  Would  you  like  to  see 
Miss  Hilda,  sir?" 

She  went  off  with  Stirling's  card,  and  he  was  soon 
yielding  himself  to  the  enchantment  of  a  wondrous 
drawing-room,  wainscoted  like  his  own  home  in  Vir- 
ginia, and  hung  with  portraits  of  ancestral  Leighs. 
One  especially  lovely  face  was  beaming  on  him  as  if 
with  friendship,  when  the  daughter  of  the  house 
entered,  hat  in  hand. 

"I  am  sorry  my  father  and  mother  are  absent," 
said  Hilda. 

"  I  have  no  very  urgent  affairs  with  either  of  them, 


62  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Miss  Leigh,  and  can  call  again  if  you  will  tell  me 
when  Mr.  Leigh  will  be  able  to  see  me.  I  am  a  friend, 
I  may  say,  and  lately  a  student  with  Judge  Minott  of 
Cambridge,  who  has  given  me  a  letter  to  your  father." 

"  Father  would  be  sorry  to  miss  you  ;  he  will  return 
by  a  rather  late  train  this  evening,  but  be  home  all  day 
to-morrow.  He  thinks  Judge  Minott  one  of  the  best 
of  men  and  would  be  glad  to  serve  a  friend  of  his." 

"  I  have  little  to  trouble  your  father  with  except  a 
number  of  questions.  I  had  indeed  thought  to  con- 
sult him  to-day  about  a  matter  that  has  engaged  my 
sympathies  and  put  me  under  some  responsibility." 

There  was  now  one  of  those  inevitable  pauses  which 
follow  the  gambit  of  opening  acquaintance.  While 
Hilda  was  expecting  a  remark  on  the  picturesqueness 
of  Peacefield,  Stirling  had  moved  a  pawn  that  required 
her  attention.  Stirling  found  turned  toward  him  a 
face  whose  type  he  had  never  before  seen  in  the 
North,  and  but  rarely  in  the  South, — a  placid,  or 
almost  languid,  face,  very  fair,  with  translucent  com- 
plexion, wavy  brown -and -gold  hair  and  soft  brown- 
and-gold  eyes.  She  was  of  large  frame,  and  might 
have  been  supposed  a  well-advanced  spinster  until  her 
voice— the  only  sure  test— revealed  the  nearness  of 
her  teens.  Her  repose,  her  largeness,  a  way  of  half- 
closing  her  eyes  while  listening,  impressed  Stirling 
with  a  feeling  that  the  Fraulein's  little  romance  might 
well  be  confided  to  this  grave  and  gracious  young 
lady,  if  she  offered  occasion.  Hilda's  answer  was 
sympathetic,  but  her  eyes  were  incurious. 

"  You  may  feel  sure  of  father's  interest  in  whatever 
you  consult  him  about.  Will  you  not  stay  to  lunch- 


PEACEFIELD  PINES.  63 

eon  ?  Mother  will  then  return  :  she  will  be  glad  to 
see  you,  and  also  to  hear  about  the  Minotts." 

"  Willingly,"  answered  Stirling,  with  a  smile  hardly 
comprehensible  to  Hilda,  who  little  knew  how  long  it 
had  been  since  her  guest  had  really  lunched  or  dined. 

"  That  is  well,"  said  Hilda,  "  and  as  it  is  early  per- 
haps you  will  enjoy  a  stroll  in  our  grounds." 

As  Hilda  with  her  furzy  russet  hat,  a  bit  of  warm 
red  ribbon  about  her  throat,  led  the  way  through  an 
aisle  of  pines  to  a  grove  of  many-colored  trees,  and 
there  moved  on  the  carpet  of  brown  and  tinted  leaves, 
Stirling  recognized  in  her  the  creation  of  Indian  Sum- 
mer. The  day  folded  its  veil  tenderly  around  her, 
the  leaves  rustled  rhythmically  under  her  tread,  a 
serene  joy  overspread  her  face,  as  if  her  youth  were 
maternally  quieted  by  this  afterglow  of  summer. 
Stirling  too  was  content.  The  rude  world  he  had 
been  mingling  with  was  here  as  a  fable,  the  past 
was  really  past ;  even  the  Fraulein's  face,  bathed  in 
tears,  vanished  out  of  memory  under  the  unconscious 
spell  of  this  guileless  Vivien  of  the  Peacefield  wood. 

They  had  walked  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  conversing 
but  little,  yet  with  a  growing  satisfaction  in  each 
other's  society,  when  they  reached  a  small  gate  beyond 
which  was  a  cottage. 

"If  you  will  wait  for  me  here,"  said  Hilda,  "I 
would  like  to  call  on  an  old  colored  woman,  an  aged 
servant  whom  we  have  to  look  after." 

Hilda  entered  the  cottage  and  Stirling  strolled  far- 
ther in  the  park  about  a  hundred  yards,  where  he 
stopped  to  pick  blackberries  from  bushes  that  made  a 
hedge  at  that  part  of  the  grounds.  While  thus  list- 


64  PINE  AND  PALM. 

lessly  engaged  he  perceived  two  men,  suspicious  char- 
acters he  thought,  crouching  under  bushes  beyond  the 
fence,  near  a  road.  They  did  not  see  him,  and  were 
absorbed  in  their  silent  watch  for  something  or  some- 
body in  the  direction  of  the  cottage.  Stirling  felt 
that  they  meant  mischief,  but  was  puzzled  what  to  do, 
for  they  were  beside  an  apparently  public  road.  He 
resolved  to  return  to  the  cottage  where  he  had  left 
Miss  Leigh  and  report  what  he  had  seen.  When  he 
knocked,  Hilda  herself  appeared,  pale,  trembling,  her 
eyes  flashing. 

"  Come  in,  pray,"  she  said  hurriedly,  then  locked  the 
door  behind  them. 

Stirling  saw  before  him  a  handsome  young  mulatto, 
and  three  women  of  the  same  race,  one  aged,  all 
much  frightened.  The  man  was  a  fugitive  slave. 
That  he  saw  at  a  glance,  and  he  knew  why  these  men 
were  crouching  under  the  hedge.  He  had  seen 
such  men  dragging  just  such  a  trembling  runaway 
through  the  streets  of  Warrenton,  followed  by  a  train 
of  gaping  boys.  He  did  not  need,  and  hardly  heeded, 
Hilda's  information,  being  already  deep  in  the  diffi- 
culties of  the  case. 

"This  man,"  she  said,  "  has  escaped  from  his  mas- 
ter in  Maryland  ;  he  was  tracked  to  Boston,  and  ran 
from  there  last  night,  traveled  all  night  on  foot,  and 
reached  here  at  daybreak." 

"  He  has  been  tracked  here,"  said  Stirling  ;  "  I  have 
just  seen  two  men  watching  this  house." 

Hilda  sank  into  a  chair  with  horror,  but  recovered 
herself  when  the  women  began  to  cry. 

"  Hush  !  "  she  commanded  ;  "  no  noise  at  all !    Now 


PEACEFIELD  PINES.  65 

what  can  we  do  ?  This  man  is  under  my  protection 
and  must  be  saved." 

"  There  is  danger,"  said  Stirling,  to  whom  she  had 
appealed  ;  "  the  law  respects  no  protection  short  of 
Canada.  For  that  country  he  must  race  with  his 
pursuers.  Do  any  of  you  know  any  man  in  this 
region  who  has  ever  helped  a  runaway  ?  " 

The  fugitive  drew  from  his  breast  a  bit  of  paper  on 
which  Stirling  read  :  "  John  Moor,  Marble  Works, 
Cemetery,  Peacefield."  The  man  said  this  address 
had  been  given  him  in  Boston.  The  women  knew 
something  of  Moor  ;  his  place  was  two  miles  distant. 
Stirling  pondered  for  a  time. 

"  Miss  Leigh,"  said  he  at  length,  "  can  a  swift 
conveyance  be  got  without  being  brought  too 
close  ? " 

"  The  stable  is  half  way  to  the  house,  and  the  dog- 
cart is  there,  with  a  boy." 

"  You,"  said  Stirling  to  the  smaller  of  the  women, 
"  walk  quietly  to  the  stable — don't  appear  to  hurry — 
and  have  the  dog-cart  and  driver  in  readiness.  And 
you,"  addressing  the  larger  but  younger  sister,  "  are 
you  willing  to  give  this  boy  your  clothes  and  wear  his 
for  a  short  time  ?  " 

The  poor  creature  was  aghast,  and  the  mother 
raised  her  hands  in  alarm. 

"  I'm  willing  to  dress  in  the  man's  clothes,"  said 
Hilda.  It  was  now  Stirling's  turn  to  be  aghast.  The 
possibility  of  this  sublime  maiden  being  carried  off  by 
negro  hunters — visions  of  parental  consternation — 
rose  before  him.  How  like  his  sister  Gisela  she  now 
looked,  her  languor  gone,  her  repose  that  of  the 


66  PINE  AND  PALM. 

smooth  cataract :  fancy  Gisela  in  the  clutch  of  a  slave- 
driver  ! 

"  No,"  said  Stirling,  "  that  would  not  do  at  all. 
We  must  have  the  dark  complexion.  The  men  must 
be  deceived  and  follow  this  woman,  supposing  her  to 
be  their  man.  She  must  run  ;  they  will  overtake  her  ; 
she  must  not  say  a  word  but  hide  her  face  with  her 
hands  and  appear  to  cry.  I  will  walk  with  this  man 
to  the  stable,  then  come  back.  This  woman  in  his 
clothes  will  wait  till  she  sees  me  coming  ;  then  let  her 
leave  the  door  and  hurry  towards  the  town.  I  will 
not  lose  sight  of  her,  and  will  come  up  in  time  to  save 
her  from  any  worry.  She  must  not  say  a  word." 

"  This  fugitive  must  use  my  gown  at  any  rate," 
Said  Hilda,  "  for  the  men  who  are  watching  saw  us 
both  coming  and  should  see  us  both  leaving.  Maria, 
come  in  here  with  me  and  we  will  arrange  things." 

Hilda's  dress  was  presently  thrust  through  the  door  ; 
the  mulatto  put  it  on  and  walked  with  Stirling  to  the 
stable  where  a  negro  stable-boy  was  waiting  with  the 
dog-cart.  The  fugitive  being  sped  on  his  way  to 
Moor's  Marble  Works,  with  money  in  his  pocket, 
Stirling  hastened  back.  As  he  came  in  sight  of  the 
cottage  he  saw  the  woman  in  man's  clothes  leave  the 
door  and  run  along  a  small  road  into  the  woods.  He 
hurried  on,  but  presently  saw  with  dismay  that  the 
men  had  a  covered  buggy  and  swift  horse  for  their 
pursuit.  Stricken  with  fear,  he  leaped  a  fence,  ran 
across  a  field  to  the  wood,  and  there  plunged  along 
the  road,  but  he  could  see  neither  the  woman  nor  her 
captors.  Running  a  hundred  rods  farther,  he 
mounted  a  small  hill,  and  then  saw,  half  a  mile 


PEACEFIELD  PINES.  67 

beyond,  one  of  the  men  opening  a  gate  for  the  other 
to  drive  through.  Cursing  his  stupidity  in  not  reflect- 
ing that  the  men  would  never  try  to  carry  a  fugitive 
without  a  vehicle,  Stirling  was  bewildered.  Fortun- 
ately a  grocer's  wragon  came  along  the  road  on  its 
way  to  town.  Stirling  hailed  it. 

"  Young  man,"  he  said  to  the  driver,  "  if  you  want  to 
earn  a  dollar  or  two,  take  me  up  and  drive  into 
Peacefield  like  lightning." 

"  Get  in  !  " 

Stirling  was  out  of  breath  for  a  few  moments,  but 
presently  told  the  youth  that  some  fellows  were 
carrying  off  a  woman  and  must  be  caught.  A  whistle 
of  amazement  and  a  tremendous  lash  on  his  horse 
were  the  driver's  comment  on  this  strange  story.  No 
word  passed  till  the  gate  opening  on  the  high-road 
was  reached. 

"  Where  am  I  to  take  you  in  Peacefield  ?  "  asked 
the  driver. 

"  Let  me  think  a  little." 

The  few  moments'  silence  that  followed  was  broken 
by  the  young  driver's  pride  in  his  horse. 

"  That  one  cut  was  enough,  sir, — don't  she  dash 
splendid  ?  She  knows  sutthin's  up." 

"  Drive  to  the  police-station." 

Stirling's  instinct  told  true  :  as  they  came  in  sight  of 
the  police-station  he  saw  the  buggy  in  front  of  it. 

"  Here  is  your  money.  You  had  better  wait  out- 
side a  little  time  to  see  if  I  need  you  again  ;  but  don't 
answer  any  questions — mark,  my  friend,  you've  done 
good  service,  now  do  me  that." 

In  a  few  moments  Stirling  was  in  the  office  confront- 


68  PINE  AND  PALM. 

ing  a  constable,  and  summoning  what   calmness  he 
could. 

"  Did  some  men  bring  a  nigger  here  just  now  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Well,  we  don't  generally  answer  questions  here 
till  we  know  who's  asking  them.  Have  you  any 
business  with  me  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  two  men  ran  off  with  my  nigger  in  that 
buggy  out  there." 

"  How  am  I  to  know  that  ?  " 

"  There's  my  card." 

The  constable  read — "  Mr.  Randolph  Stirling.  The 
Palms,  Warrenton,  Va." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Stirling,  "  if  my  nigger  chooses  to 
leave  me  when  I'm  traveling  north  I  can't  help  it,  but 
I'm  not  going  to  have  him  abducted  by  force." 

"  Wait  a  moment,  Mr.  Stirling,  we  must  see  about 
this.  Two  men  did  leave  a  nigger  here  and  they've 
gone  off  to  find  the  Marshal.  They  said  this  wasn't 
their  man,  but  he  had  got  theirs  off,  and  we  must 
keep  him  till  they  brought  the  Marshal." 

"  Well — only  let  me  see  that  nigger  and  you'll  hear 
all  about  it." 

"  I'm  ready  to  do  whatever's  lawful,  Mr.  Stirling, 
but  we  must  wait  till  the  Marshal  comes.  The  negro 
is  quite  comfortable  in  the  other  room,  all  by  himself. 
You  needn't  be  afraid,  provided  he  wants  to  go  with 
you.  He  hasn't  spoken  a  word  yet." 
j'fStirling  fretted  a  good  deal  about  poor  Maria, 
knowing  how  terrified  she  must  be.  He  dismissed 
the  driver  who  brought  him,  and  ordered  a  carriage  to 
the  door.  Just  then  the  two  slave- 


PEACEFIELD  PINES.  69 

hunters  returned  with  the  Marshal.  They  preceded 
Stirling  a  little  into  the  station  and  he  hurried  after 
them.  He  saw  them  at  the  end  of  a  corridor  where  the 
constable  was  unlocking  a  door.  He  swiftly  followed 
them  into  the  dark  room,  in  a  corner  of  which 
crouched — Hilda. 

Overwhelmed  with  amazement  and  fear,  Stirling  was 
about  to  cry  out,  when  he  saw  Hilda  touch  her  lips  ; 
he  was  also  calmed  by  the  slightly  mischievous  glance 
she  cast  at  him.  Hilda  made  up  well  as  a  young  man, 
but  her  color  had  been  put  on  hastily — a  mixture,  one 
would  say,  of  coffee  and  soot.  She  was  aware  that 
this  was  her  weak  point,  and  had  crouched  in  the 
darkest  corner,  where  she  drew  her  hat  over  her  face 
as  well  as  she  could. 

"Come  now,"  cried  one  of  the  Marylanders,  "get 
up  here,  you  damned " 

"Stop  a  moment,"  said  Stirling,  placing  himself  in 
front  of  Hilda — "  is  this  your  boy  ? " 

"  No,  but  he's  got  on  our  boy's  clothes,  I  do  believe, 
and  he's  come  a  trick  on  us." 

"  Show  the  Marshal  your  documents.  Let's  see  if 
you've  got  a  warrant  to  catch  any  nigger  at  all,"  said 
Stirling,  wondering  what  Hilda  would  think  of  his 
swagger  and  vulgar  dialect. 

"  Jim  Bounce's  got  the  papers  ;  he  took  'em  off  to 
get  the  warrant  while  Bob  and  me  watched  the  house 
where  the  boy  went.  While  we  was  watching  the  feller 
made  off  and  we  follered " 

"  But  it  isn't  the  fellow,"  said  the  Marshal  ;  "  I  gave 
Mr.  Bounce  his  warrant  an  hour  ago,  and  that's  not 
the  fugitive  described  in  the  papers.  Come,  gentle- 


7°  PINE  AND  PALM. 

men,  we  are  ready  to  try  and  return  your  slave  if  you 
get  hold  of  him,  but  you'll  find  that  hard  enough  with- 
out trying  to  carry  off  somebody  in  his  place." 

"This  gentleman,"  said  the  constable,  pointing  to 
Stirling,  "  claims  the  negro  as  his  property,  and  gave 
me  this  card." 

"  Peacefield  seems  overrun  with  masters  and  slaves 
to-day,"  said  the  Marshal,  examining  Stirling's  card. 

"My  God,  I  do  wish  Jim  Bounce  was  herej" 
exclaimed  one  of  the  slave-hunters  piteously.  "  It  was 
his  man  ;  I  never  seen  him  till  I  see  him  go  into  that 
house.  This  feller  looked  like  him  behind." 

"  Probably,"  remarked  Stirling,  "  Mr.  Bounce  has 
gone  back  to  the  house  with  his  warrant  and  by  this 
time  has  got  his  own  nigger.  As  for  my  boy  there,  I 
sent  him  out  to  that  house  to  wait  while  I  transacted 
some  business  with  Mr.  Derby  Leigh  ;  if  he  found  a 
runaway  nigger  there,  flying  from  a  cruel  master,  he 
might  have  swapped  clothes  to  draw  off  these  men. 
Niggers  will  be  niggers.  If  these  men  haven't  been 
so  sharp  as  the  darkies  it's  their  lookout.  But  I  don't 
believe  they're  right.  I  didn't  notice  the  boy's  clothes 
this  morning,  but  they  look  about  right." 

"  Can't  we  wait  here  till  Jim  Bounce  comes  ? " 
whined  the  slave-hunter  pathetically. 

"  These  gentlemen,"  said  Stirling,  bowing  politely 
to  the  Marshal  and  the  constable,  "  may  be  able  to 
accommodate  you,  but  I  have  already  lost  more  time 
than  I  can  well  spare.  If  my  boy  Sam  there  wishes 
to  leave  me  and  claim  his  freedom  he  has  now  a 
chance  ;  I  admit  that,  Mr.  Marshal,  for  I  brought  him 
north  at  my  own  risk  ;  but  if,  as  I  hope,  he  has  found 


PEACEFIELD  PINES.  71 

me  a  good  master,  and  wishes  to  stick  by  me,  and  see 
his  old  mammy  and  daddy  again,  I  trust  the  Marshal 
will  protect  us  from  further  annoyance  and  allow  us 
to  go  in  peace." 

The  Marshal,  impressed  by  Stirling's  little  speech 
— it  was  in  his  best  Dane  Hall  manner — bowed 
assent. 

"Well,  Sam,  my  boy,"  said  Stirling,  "  what  do  you 
mean  to  do  ?  " 

Hilda,  shunning  the  gaze  of  the  sharp-eyed  Mary- 
landers,  leaped  forward  and  knelt  before  Stirling, 
grasping  his  hand.  The  Marshal  was  touched  by  such 
affection. 

"  Constable,  let  this  gentleman  and  his  servant  out 
without  interruption  !  " 

"  Darnation  seize  Jim  Bounce  !  "  cried  a  despairing 
voice  behind  them  as  Stirling  and  Hilda  hurried  away 
—she  holding  her  sleeve  to  her  eyes  as  if  crying,  and 
so  hiding  her  clumsy  complexion  from  too  much  light. 

But  the  attendant  constable  was  a  connoisseur  in 
human  figures,  and  when  they  reached  their  carriage 
Stirling  saw  on  that  functionary's  face  a  knowing 
smile  as  he  searchingly  regarded  Hilda's  form.  Hilda 
was  pushed  roughly  into  the  carriage,  but  the  con- 
stable was  not  to  be  deceived  ;  he  distinctly  winked 
at  Stirling. 

"Young  men  will  be  young  men,"  he  whispered. 

An  instantaneous  debate  passed  in  Stirling's  mind 
whether  he  should  knock  the  constable  down  or  give 
him  five  dollars. 

"Young  men  know  whom  they  can  trust,"  he  whis- 
pered, slipping  something  into  the  official's  hand. 


7 2  PINE  A&D  PALM. 

"  Tell  the  driver  to  go  up  that  high  road  as  fast  as 
possible,  and  he'll  be  well  paid." 

They  were  none  too  quick  in  getting  off.  The 
rumor  had  reached  Peacefield  negro-quarter  that  a 
fugitive  slave  was  being  carried  off,  and  a  score  or 
two  of  furious  men  rushed  to  the  police-station  just 
as  the  carriage  dashed  off.  But  not  without  a  black 
face  being  seen  in  it.  The  mob  at  once  pursued, 
crying  "  kidnappers  "  ;  the  negro  driver  heard  the  cry, 
and  when  stones  crashed  against  his  coach  held  back 
his  horses.  Stirling  thrust  his  head  out  and  called  to 
the  driver,  "  Don't  be  afraid  ;  we  are  leaving  the  kid- 
nappers behind  and  saving  this  boy.  Drive  fast, 
straight  to  Peacefield  Pines." 

At  that  moment  a  stone  struck  Stirling's  head,  and 
he  sank  back  into  the  coach.  "  It  is  nothing,"  he 
said,  and  became  insensible.  The  driver,  who  knew 
nothing  of  the  blow,  dashed  on  ;  he  had  no  fear  that 
any  kidnapper  would  wish  to  be  taken  to  Derby 
Leigh's  house.  The  mob  was  left  far  behind.  To 
Hilda,  holding  the  apparently  lifeless  man  in  her  arms, 
the  horses  moved  as  snails. 

The  Leigh  household  was  in  terrible  commotion. 
On  her  return  home  several  hours  before,  Mrs.  Leigh 
found  the  colored  woman  from  the  cottage  weeping 
with  terror.  She  was  met  with  the  wild  story  that  her 
daughter,  dressed  in  man's  clothes,  had  gone  off  with 
a  strange  gentleman.  She  had  to  be  stern  with  the 
bewildered  woman  before  she  received  any  intelligible 
account  ;  she  drove  to  the  telegraph  office  to  call  her 
husband  back  by  first  train,  then  to  the  office  of  her 
brother,  Dr.  Endicott.  The  physician,  with  what 


PEACEF1ELD  PINES.  73 

meager  information  she  could  give,  started  off  in  her 
carnage,  and  she  returned  home  in  his  brougham. 
She  found  and  read  Judge  Minott's  letter  of  introduc- 
tion, then  went  to  the  front  gate  and  watched  till 
she  saw  a  coach  rapidly  approaching.  She  felt  that  it 
was  coming  there  and  swung  open  the  gate.  She 
required  all  her  courage  after  a  glance  into  the  car- 
riage. To  see  her  daughter,  her  lovely,  luxuriant 
Hilda,  now  sooty,  blood-stained,  clasping  a  man's 
head,  so  shook  her  nerves  that  she  could  hardly  fol- 
low the  coach. 

"  Bring  the  men,"  said  Hilda  to  the  servants  gath- 
ered at  the  door.  "  Coachman,  this  gentleman  was 
struck  by  a  stone — we  shall  need  your  help.  Maria, 
stand  by  the  horses'  heads  and  keep  them  still. 
Emma,  some  brandy." 

She  remained  seated,  with  Stirling  in  her  weary 
arms,  until  the  gardener,  coachman,  and  stable-boy 
were  ready  to  lift  him  into  the  house,  where  he  gave 
signs  of  returning  consciousness. 

Dr.  Endicott  had  driven  to  the  negro-quarter, 
where  he  was  told  that  a  fugitive  slave  had  been  taken 
to  Moor's  Marble  Works  :  he  drove  there  and  learned 
that  the  mulatto  was  far  on  his  way.  He  then  drove 
to  his  sister's  house  for  further  inquiry,  and  arrived  in 
good  time  to  attend  to  Stirling.  He  found  the 
wounded  man  conscious,  but  weak  from  excitement 
and  loss  of  blood.  He  could  not  say  yet  whether  the 
wound  was  dangerous,  but  bound  it  up  carefully.  He 
then  turned  his  attention  to  Hilda.  She  had  almost 
become  her  tranquil  self  again.  Only  a  big  bruise  on 
each  arm  told  that  ruffian  hands  had  been  upon  her. 


74  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Dr.  Endicott's  conservatism  suffered  by  sight  of  these 
bruises,  and  when  later  he  returned  from  a  drive  into 
Peacefield  he  reported,  with  illicit  satisfaction,  that 
the  mob,  distanced  by  Stirling's  coach,  had  got  hold 
of  the  negro-hunters,  who  had  to  be  locked  up  for 
safety. 

Mr.  Derby  Leigh  was  met  at  the  depot  by  Dr.  Endi- 
cott.  His  apprehensions  being  relieved  about  his 
family,  he  at  once  entered  Stirling's  room  ;  he  inquired 
where  his  trunk  was,  and  whether  there  were  any  thing 
he  wished  to  have  attended  to.  Stirling  mentioned  his 
hotel,  and  then  said  he  would  like  to  have  Miss  Rose, 
at  Heman  Wilder's  boarding-house  in  Peacefield, 
informed  that  the  man  who  traveled  with  her  from 
Spindleton  was  prevented  by  an  accident  from  calling, 
but  he  would  surely  come  to  her  and  fulfill  his  prom- 
ise, if  he  lived.  Stirling's  voice  became  very  feeble, 
and  Mr.  Leigh  had  to  lean  over  him  to  catch  the  last 
words. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

A    MORROW    OF    MYSTERIES. 

MR.  DERBY  LEIGH  that  evening  undertook  the 
visits  to  the  hotel  and  to  Heman  Wilder's  board- 
ing-house, and  returned  with  a  batch  of  what  he  least 
liked — mysteries.  One  mystery  was  a  huge  wooden 
box  of  clothing,  brought  from  the  hotel  after  much 
hesitation  in  accepting  the  evidence  that  it  must  be 
Stirling's.  Another  mystery  was  the  impression  left 
by  his  interview  with  Miss  Rose.  He  had  found  him- 
self conversing  with  a  servant,  and  when  he  gave  her 
Stirling's  message  she  was  greatly  agitated.  "  Oh, 
sir,"  she  exclaimed  with  tears,  "  I  hope  he  is  not  much 
hurt — is  he,  sir,  is  he  ?  He  is  so  good  and  kind  !  Ah, 
I  would  help  him  !  "  Mr.  Leigh  was  in  a  hurry  to 
leave,  but  left  his  address  that  she  might  call  and  ask 
about  her  friend  the  next  day.  This  Miss  Rose,  he 
could  not  but  see,  was  pretty  and  otherwise  attractive; 
there  was  also  a  certain  dignity  about  her,  servant  as 
she  was,  which  prevented  his  questioning  her  about 
her  relations  with  Stirling.  When  he  reached  home, 
this  simple  gentleman,  who  never  had  a  secret  in  his 
life,  was  perplexed  almost  to  irritation.  His  wife  and 
daughter  were  alone,  and  fixed  on  him  eyes  so  fraught 
with  questions  that  utterance  of  any  particular  one 
would  have  been  misleading. 

"  Well,  Constance,"  he  said,  "  I  have  seen  little  more 


76  PINE  AND  PALM. 

than  the  nose  of  the  person  upstairs,  but  if  Hilda 
there  didn't  guarantee  him  I  might  have  doubts  of  his 
identity." 

"  Father  !  " 

"  Why  the  man's  only  trunk  is  a  big  and  rough  box 
— an  emigrant's  box — and  the  only  person  he  has  any 
communication  for  is  a  servant  girl  in  a  Dutch  board- 
ing-house. Is  that  a  man  for  Minott  to  introduce 
into  my  family  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father,"  said  Hilda,  encircling  his  neck  with 
an  arm  that  ached  as  she  did  so — "  that  is  Judge 
Minott's  friend  ;  it's  well  you  haven't  really  seen  him 
yet,  for  I  should  lose  faith  in  your  eyes.  I  have 
known  him  a  whole  year  in  one  day,  and  a  truer  gen- 
tleman never  crossed  your  threshold." 

Mr.  Leigh  never  appealed  from  a  verdict  sealed 
with  a  kiss,  but  on  this  occasion  was  bold  enough  to 
remark  that  it  was  curious. 

"  Hilda,"  said  Mrs.  Leigh,  "  I  don't  yet  know  just 
what  your  knight  has  done,  or  whether  you  owe  him 
fealty  of  Maiden  rescued  from  Dragon,  but  I  would 
like  to  know  whether  the  German  servant  is  also  a 
rescued  maiden." 

"  Not  the  least  doubt  of  it,"  said  Hilda.  "  Did  she 
say  when  she  would  come,  father  ?  " 

"  No  ;  but  your  uncle  said  when  you  must  go  to 
bed,  unless  we  want  two  invalids  in  the  house — 
namely,  at  nine,  and  that  you  must  not  rise  till  he  has 
seen  you.  These  are  my  parental  orders.  No,  not 
another  word,  only  my  kiss.  Good-night,  my 
darling." 

Derby  Leigh's  voice  did  not  often  quiver  ;  the  ter- 


A   MORROW   OF  MYSTERIES.  77 

rible  thought  that  this  heart  on  which  his  life  rested 
had  been  near  to  danger  and  harm,  was  almost  too 
much  for  him.  Hilda  suddenly  clasped  him  in  her 
arms  and  caressed  him  as  if  he  were  a  child.  Mrs, 
Constance  took  the  occasion  to  have  out  the  cry  she 
had  been  reserving  for  her  pillow. 

A  servant  ?  Then,  reflected  Hilda  on  her  way  up 
stairs,  she  will  probably  come  early, — soon  after  the 
people  have  had  their  breakfast.  She  found  Emma, 
her  maid,  waiting  in  her  room,  and  somewhat  hys- 
terical. She  soothed  her,  and  then  enjoined  that  if 
any  body  should  call  after  the  wounded  gentleman, 
that  person  must  not  leave  without  the  name  being 
first  brought  to  herself.  This  injunction  was  care- 
fully repeated  and  Emma  promised  obedience. 

Next  morning  Hilda  returned  to  a  troubled  con- 
sciousness. The  pallid  blood-stained  face  of  the  man 
struck  down  at  her  side  shaped  itself  before  her  wak- 
ing senses.  Her  uncle  had  good  prevision  in  forbid- 
ding her  to  rise  the  next  morning  ;  her|back  was  stiff 
and  both  arms  ached.  At  cost  of  a  twinge  she  rang 
her  bell,  which  was  answered  by  Emma. 

"  When  uncle  Endicott  comes  —  " 

"  He  came  last  night,  miss,  to  take  care  of  the  gen- 
tleman." 

"  Well,  you  may  go  ;  but  don't  forget  about  the 
Ger — Don't  forget  that  I  want  to  see  any  one  who 
comes  to  ask  after  the  gentleman." 

Soon  after  Dr.  Endicott  visited  Hilda,  and  gave  her 
permission  to  rise  when  her  limbs  gave  theirs. 

"  Now,  uncle,  dear  uncle  " — the  half-closed  eyes 
were  leveled  at  him — "  tell  me  the  exact  condition  of 


78  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Mr.  Stirling.  I'm  not  one  to  worry.  How  bad 
is  it?" 

"  Well,  child,  the  blow  was  about  as  deep  as  it  could 
be  without  fracture.  He  has  not  had  a  good  night, 
and  worse  may  follow.  But  he  is  sound  and  strong, 
otherwise,  and  if  erysipelas  be  escaped  the  wound 
will  heal  fast." 

"  Give  me  a  kiss,  uncle,  and  come  again  when  I 
send  for  you.  And  now,  remember,  I  am  an  invalid, 
and  must  not  be  crossed  in  anything  ;  will  you  please 
give  that  order  to  every  body  about  the  house  ?  " 

"  Hilda,  are  you  turning  humbug  after  all  ? " 

"  Uncle,  from  this  time  I  am  a  nervous  and  agitated 
invalid,  and  if  I  happen  to  have  a  whim  it  must  be 
respected." 

Dr.  Endicott  went  off  laughing,  and  as  he  was 
presently  driving  through  the  gate  he  met  the  Frati- 
lein,  who  asked  if  that  were  Mr.  Leigh's  house.  He 
gave  her  a  scrutinizing  glance  with  his  answer,  and 
drove  on.  Emma,  who  answered  the  Fraiilein's  ring, 
had  too  much  unsatisfied  curiosity  to  bear  in  mind  her 
mistress'  instructions. 

"  The  gentleman  is  hurt  bad,"  she  said  ;  "  did  you 
see  it  all  ?  how  did  it  happen  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  Fraiilein,  "  I  do  not  know  about  it. 
He  was  friendly  with  me.  Can  I  see  him  ?  " 

Emma  stared  at  her  and  smiled  at  her  accent  and 
manner. 

"Who  is  that?"  called  Mrs.  Leigh,  just  passing 
through  the  hall. 

"  A  young  person  asking  about  the  gentleman  up 
stairs,  ma'am." 


A    MORROW  OF  MYSTERIES.  79 

"  Ah,"  said  Mrs.  Leigh,  a  faintest  frown  gathering 
on  her  brow  as  she  approached  the  door.  "  Emma, 
you  may  go  ;  I  will  see  this  person." 

"  Pray,  madame,  will  you  tell  me  how  the  man  is, 
and  what  has  happened  to  him  ?  " 

"  He  was  struck  by  a  stone  and  much  injured." 

"  Ach,  lieber  Gott ! "  exclaimed  the  Fraulein,  her 
eyes  brimming. 

"  Is  he  a — a  relation  of  yours  ?  " 

"  No,  madam." 

"  A  friend." 

"  Yes,  madam,  my  one,  my  true  friend.  Can  I. see 
him  ?  " 

"  Not  now,  he  is  too  ill." 

The  Fraulein  bid  Mrs.  Leigh  "  adieu,"  and  turned 
slowly  away  from  the  door. 

Casually  entering  Hilda's  room,  after  dismissal 
from  the  front  door,  Emma  found  that  young  lady 
restless. 

"  Has  no  one  been  here  yet  to  inquire  for  Mr.  Stirl- 
ing ? — How  can  I  trust  you,  Emma  ? " 

She  saw  the  guilt  in  Emma's  face.  The  maid  flew 
down  stairs,  and,  the  Fraulein  having  gone,  ran  wildly 
after  her  on  the  high  road.  She  was  easily  overtaken, 
for  she  had  sat  down  on  a  wayside  rock  to  weep.  She 
was  led  back  to  Hilda,  who  said  :  "  Thank  you, 
Emma,"  in  a  forgiving  tone,  and  added,  "  You  need 
not  come  again  till  I  ring." 

"Take  a  seat,"  said  Hilda  to  the  Fraiilem, 
rather  coldly.  "  I  am  not  allowed  to  get  out  of  bed 
just  now." 

"  Are  you  ill,  miss  ? " 


o  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  No,  but  they're  afraid  I  will  be.  You  can  speak 
to  me  in  German,  Fraiilein  ;  I  will  tell  you  if  I  don't 
understand  any  thing." 

The  German  looked  at  the  lovely  American  on  her 
luxurious  couch  with  wonder,  while  Hilda's  eyes 
closed  for  a  moment,  as  if  fearing  they  might  reveal 
her  anxiety,  which  stirred  a  little  by  sight  of  the 
attractive  object  of  Stirling's  solicitude.  This  was  no 
commonplace  servant. 

"  You  called  to  ask  after  Mr.  Stirling,"  said  Hilda, 
the  eyes  slightly  opening. 

"  After  him  that  is  hurt — ah  !  I  could  not  sleep  for 
thinking  of  him  in  pain.  I  came  as  soon  as  I  could. 
Ah,  miss,  is  it  dangerous  ?  The  last  hope  of  my  life 
will  die — Oh, — " — the  last  words  ended  in  tears. 

"  We  all  hope  it  is  not  so  bad  as  that,"  said  Hilda, 
vainly  trying  to  get  kindliness  into  her  voice  by  reflect- 
ing that  allowance  must  be  made  for  foreigners. 

"  Is  he  a  relation  of  yours? "  asked  Hilda. 

"No,  Miss." 

"A  friend?" 

"  My  only  friend." 

"You  know  him  intimately." 

"  How  ?  I  know  him,  I  feel  him  to  be  a  true  and 
loving  and  godlike  heart,  however  he  may  look  on  the 
outside.  One  can  not  judge  by  appearances." 

Hilda  was  so  bewildered  by  this  remark  that  her 
scheme  for  this  interview  was  disarranged.  The  out- 
side ?  She  looked  into  Fraiilein's  eyes  for  light  on 
the  dark  saying,  but  none  was  caught  from  their  sky- 
blue  simplicity. 

"  He  has  been  very  good  to  you,  then"  ? 


A   MORROW  OF  MYSTERIES.  81 

"  Ah,  indeed  was  he  !  He  found  me  without  home 
or  friends  ;  he  raised  my  heart  out  of  trouble  ;  once 
more  I  found  hope." 

"  Where  did  you  first  meet  him  ? " 

"In  a  railway  station.  He  helped  me  with  my 
box  and  afterwards  we  have  traveled  together.  Then 
he  spoke  to  me,  oh,  so  sweetly  !  " 

The  languid  white  face  on  the  pillow  was  suffused 
with  a  blush  ;  the  long  eyelashes  came  down  this 
time  to  repress  something — was  it  a  flash  or  a  tear  ? 
It  was  some  moments  before  Hilda  ventured  to 
speak. 

"  He  wished  us  to  send  you  word  that  he  would 
come  to  you  and  fulfill  his  promise  to  you  if  he  lived." 

"  Ah,  that  is  like  him  !  I  can  see  him,  I  can  hear 
him  as  he  said  it.  It  is  wonderful.  What  was  there 
in  poor  me  that  he  should  load  me  with  favors  ? " 

Hilda  considered  the  Fraiilein's  question.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  that  she  was  pretty,  ingenuous — 
though  perhaps  slightly  sentimental — and  fairly  edu- 
cated ;  why  might  not  the  warm-blooded  southerner, 
mastering  the  scholar,  be  fascinated  by  this  servant 
girl  ?  But,  alas  for  the  suggestiveness  of  those 
words  about  the  meeting  in  the  depot,  "  he  helped  me 
with  my  box  and  afterwards  we  have  traveled 
together  !  "  If,  as  Hilda  now  feared,  there  had  been 
wrong,  it  must  be  some  treason,  and  this  girl  was  its 
victim.  She  had  been  too  cold  to  the  poor  child. 

"  Is  he  your  man,  miss  ? "  asked  the  Fratilein. 

"  My  man  !  " 

"  Has  he  got  work  here  ? " 

"  Work?     What   can  you  mean?      Keep  to   your 


82  PINE  AND  PALM. 

German,  Fraulein,  I  understand  it  better  than  your 
English." 

"  I  mean  is  my  friend  a  servant  on  this  place  ?  He 
could  not  get  work  in  the  mills  at  Spindleton  and  was 
trying  to  find  some  here." 

Hilda  was  thoroughly  mystified.  While  she  reflected 
there  rose  in  her  vision  that  emigrant  box  carried  to 
Stirling's  room  ;  she  remembered  her  father's  passing 
doubt  about  his  identity.  Her  hero  of  the  morning 
was  tottering  on  his  pedestal.  For  the  first  time  in 
her  life  she  seemed  to  be  getting  a  glimpse  into  the 
dark  depths  of  man's  perfidy.  This  was  indeed  the 
gentleman  whom  Judge  Minott  had  introduced  in 
glowing  terms — Hilda  had  read  the  letter — but  in 
some  way  he  had  deceived  this  poor  German  girl  ; 
who  must  now  be  undeceived,  however  painful  the 
task. 

"  My  friend,"  said  Hilda,  u  come  closer  to  me.  No 
— leave  that  hard  chair,  here  is  one  beside  me. 
There  !  Now,  take  my  hand  ;  I  have  been  cold  to 
you  but  am  not  so  now.  You  have  had  troubles." 

u  Ah,  I  have  had  troubles  ;  I  have  long  been  alone 
and  never  expected  to  have  a  friend  again,  when  your 
workman  took  my  side — he  fought  for  me,  he  helped 
me  with  his  money,  he  promised  to — to — " 

"  To  do  what  ? "  asked  Hilda  eagerly,  the  Fraulein 
having  ended  her  sentence  with  a  blush  and  with 
tears. 

Hilda  drew  a  little  sigh  of  relief.  She  could  hardly 
have  explained  why ;  she  was  even  more  puzzled 
than  ever  about  'the  relation  between  this  young 
woman  and  Stirling,  but  the  revelation  that  he  had 


A   MORROW  OF  MYSTERIES.  83 

fought  for  her  in  some  emergency  set  the  Virginian 
somewhat  straighter  on  his  pedestal. 

"  We  shall  be  good  friends,  shall  we  not  ?  "  said  she, 
pressing  the  Frattlein's  hand.  "  Tell  me  now  all  about 
yourself  and  this  man.  He  is  not  our  workman  ;  we 
have  never  seen  him  before  yesterday  ;  he  is  here  only 
because  he  is  wounded." 

"  So  !  "  exclaimed  Fraulein  Rose  with  amazement  ; 
"  then  you  do  not  know  ?  " 

At  that  moment  Mr.  Derby  Leigh  entered  the  room. 
He  did  not  know  that  the  Fraulein  was  with  Hilda, 
but  bowed  politely  to  her. 

"  You  darling  papa,"  said  Hilda,  as  he  kissed  her, 
"  for  once  in  your  life  you've  come  too  soon/1 

"  Then  I'll  go  at  once,  but  I  had  a  secret  to  tell 
you." 

"Darling  papa,  why  didn't  you  come  sooner  ?  " 

"  Can  this  young  lady  spare  you  a  moment  ?  " 

"  Fraulein,  will  you  step  outside  a  moment  ? " 

The  girl  having  gone  Mr.  Leigh  informed  Hilda  that, 
it  having  become  necessary  to  open  Mr.  Stirling's  box, 
a  workman's  suit  was  found,  which  he  had  explained 
by  saying  that,  in  traveling  to  observe  the  working 
classes,  he  had  used  that  disguise. 

"  How  droll  !  "  said  Hilda. 

"  What  sort  of  girl  is  this  ?  " 

"  A  good  girl.  She  was  about  to  tell  me  her  story, 
I  believe,  when  you  came  in.  Do  call  her  now,  and 
tell  mamma  I  think  still  she  will  prove  to  be  one  of  our 
knight's  rescued  maidens."  t 

A  few  moments  after,  Hilda  was  listening  to  the1 
Fraiilein's  romance, 


84  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  And  this  promise  to  you,  which  he  said  he  would 
fulfill  if  he  lived  ? " 

"  Ah,  that  :  he  took  down  the  name  of  my  Franz's 
ship,  and  the  time  he  sailed,  and  said  he  would  try  to 
find  him  ;  he  promised  too  to  try  and  find  me  some 
work.  Ah,  is  he  not  kind  ? " 

"  He  is  indeed,"  said  Hilda,  turning  away  to  laugh 
at  the  comedy  she  had  been  acting  with  the  simple 
Fralilein.  At  last  she  turned  her  eyes,  which  merri- 
ment had  moistened,  on  the  wondering  and  abashed 
girl,  and  took  her  hand  again. 

"  Forgive  me,  Fraulein,  I  am  laughing  at  myself.  I 
had  formed  some  ridiculous  fancies  about  you  and 
this  gentleman  down  stairs.  For  he  is  not  a  working- 
man  as  you  suppose,  but  was  only  dressed  in  that  way 
for  a  kind  of — of  masquerade." 

"  Lieber  Gott !  " 

"  Don't  think  he  meant  harm.  He  meant  good — to 
just  such  people  as  you  ;  and  yesterday  he  was  wounded 
while  saving  a  poor  slave.  Don't  you  remember  your 
Marchen  of  princes  going  about  in  disguise  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  asked  him  if  so  he  was." 

"  You  have  made  me  happier,  Fraulein  ;  will  you 
not  come  again  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  will,  miss,"  answered  the  pleased  and 
blushing  girl. 

"  And  do  not  tell  any  one  the  story  you  have  told 
me  ;  and  do  not  talk  of  your  friend  here  except  to 
me,  and  do  not  ask  about  him  when  you  come  again. 
I  will  tell  you  that." 

At  this  moment  Dr.  Endicott  knocked  and  was 
admitted.  He  bowed  politely  to  Fraulein  Rose,  whopi 


A    MORROW  OF  MYSTERIES.  85 

his  niece  introduced,  then  turned  to  his  blithe  pa- 
tient. 

"  You  seem  to  be  a  rather  lively  case  of  nervous  and 
agitated  invalid,  Hilda.  Well,  is  there  any  thing  I 
can  do,  I'm  just  going  home." 

"  Nothing,  uncle — but  yes,  there  is.  I  wish  you 
would  take  this  friend  of  mine  to  her  home  in  Peace- 
field  in  your  carriage." 

"  With  pleasure." 

"  Oh  no,"  exclaimed  the  Fraiilein,  "  I  will  gladly 
walk." 

"  My  niece  must  be  obeyed  in  every  thing — for  this 
one  day  ;  so  I  beg  your  company,  miss,"  said  the 
doctor,  opening  the  door. 

Soon  after  Dr.  Endicott  had  driven  off  with  the 
Fraiilein,  to  the  astonishment  of  all,  and  of  Emma  in 
particular,  Hilda  surprised  her  parents  by  rushing 
upon  them,  as  they  were  walking  on  the  lawn,  and 
declaring  herself  exceptionally  well. 

"  But  you  look  anxious,  both  of  yon,"  she  said  ; 
"  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  Hilda,  your  father  and  I  are  considering 
what  we  can  do  for  Mr.  Stirling.  He  may  require 
nursing.  We  might  bring  Maria  from  the  cottage,  but 
I  fear  Lucy  could  not  take  care  of  her  mother,  by 
herself." 

u  Mamma,"  said  Hilda  merrily,  "  do  Rescued  Maid- 
ens give  up  their  wounded  Knights  in  that  way  ?  That 
German  girl,  about  whom  we  have  been  mystified,  is 
Mr.  Stirling's  acquaintance  of  two  hours  ;  he  defended 
her  from  insult,  helped  her  in  trouble,  promised  to  try 
ancl  find  her  work,  an(J  to  try  and  find  some  trace  of 


86  PINE  AND  PALM. 

her  lover.  The  poor  child  has  followed  some  despair- 
ing youth  all  the  way  from  Germany  without  knowing 
where  he  is — a  veritable  bride  asking  for  her  beloved  !  " 

"  Well,  that  is  odd,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Leigh. 

"  Hilda,  for  once  I  believe  you're  romancing,"  said 
her  mother. 

"  Not  a  bit,  mamma.  Now  she  and  I  are  )^our  res- 
cued maidens  :  she  must  remain  here  ;  Emma  is  to 
be  married  next  week  and  this  Fraulein  is  the  very 
person  I  want.  The  gardener  may  watch  with  Mr. 
Stirling  at  night,  but  if  woman's  help  is  needed  Frau- 
lein and  I — " 

"  Hilda,  do  be  serious  !  " 

"  Child,  you've  taken  laughing-gas  !  " 

There  were  other  parental  exclamations,  to  which 
Hilda  listened  with  the  sweet  submissiveness  of  one 
sure  to  have  her  way. 

The  next  day  Fraulein  Rose,  as  she  was  preparing 
to  walk  to  the  Leighs'  house,  found  their  carriage  at 
Heman  Wilder's  door.  In  obedience  to  a  letter  that 
came  with  it  she  prepared  her  trunk,  was  driven  to  the 
mansion,  and  installed  in  a  pleasant  room  there.  She 
moved  through  it  all  with  a  sort  of  dazed  happi- 
ness. 

"My  mother,"  she  said  to  Hilda,  "  would  sometimes 
call  me  her  Dornroschen,  and  she  must  right  be.  I 
am  favored  by  fairies  and  tooken  out  from  the  briers." 

Stirling  thus  seemed  in  a  fair  way  to  become,  for  a 
second  time,  an  interesting  object  of  maidenly  care  ; 
but,  unfortunately  for  the  pathos  of  such  situation, 
Dr.  Endicott  interfered  the  very  next  day. 

"I  know  it's  cruel  news,  my  dear  Hilda,"  he  said 


A   MORROW  OF  MYSTERIES.  87 

sadly,  "  but  nothing  can  save  this  youth  from — getting 
well  almost  immediately." 

"  Uncle  ! " 

"  Why,  what  young  fellow  wouldn't  keep  his  broken 
head  to  be  a  hero  nursed  by  tender  damozel  ?  " 

"  Incorrigible  bachelor  !  " 

"  But  it  can  not  be  helped,  the  poor  fellow  is  already 
well  enough  to  go  home  with  me  ;  for  it  is  I  that  must 
tend  his  wound." 

And  so  the  wounded  knight  came  down  in  casque 
of  white  bandages,  and  was  driven  off  by  the  officious 
physician. 


CHAPTER   X. 

FROM    THE    SHAMBLE    TO    LEROYLAND. 

ABOUT  the  time  when  his  friend  reached  Peace- 
field,  Wentworth  for  the  first  time  touched  the 
"  sacred  soil "  of  Virginia.  The  first  house  he  entered 
there  was  not,  however,  especially  sacred;  it  was  the 
human  shamble  of  Messrs.  Gephart  &  Co.,  in  a  town 
not  far  from  the  District  of  Columbia.  The  Boston- 
ian  had  stored  up  all  his  cynicism  for  this  visit,  and 
presented  a  blast  front  to  the  slavedealer's  keen  eyes. 

"  Is  it  cash  ?  "  asked  Gephart. 

"  Yes." 

"  You  only  want  a  man  ?  We've  a  nice  lot  to-mor- 
row, man  and  wife." 

"  I  can't  wait.  I'm  not  sure  about  wanting  more 
than  the  man." 

"  Well,  I'll  show  you  what  we've  got." 

Wentworth  followed  the  dealer  through  several 
groups,  and  at  length  fixed  his  eye  on  a  handsome 
defiant  face,  one  of  five  in  a  room  through  which 
Gephart  was  hurrying. 

"  Stop  a  moment,"  said  Wentworth,  "  let's  look  at 
these." 

"  These  are  for  far  south." 

"  You  mean  they  are  sold  ? " 


FROM  THE  SHAMBLE  TO  LEROYLAND.        89 

"  Not  yet,  but  they  must  be  sold  on  condition  of 
going  down  south." 

«  Why  ?  " 

"  One  thing  and  another.  That  yeller  gal's  got  to 
go  because  some  youngster's  taken  a  fancy  to  her. 
The  Missis  won't  'low  her  nigher'n  Louisiana.  Rest 
got  into  trouble,  mostly  thieving,  and  let  off  on  con- 
dition of  being  sent  to  the  plantations." 

"  What  of  this  young  man  ?  " 

"  Wust  o'  the  set.  Kep'  the  whole  neighborhood 
in  terror  with  his  devilry,  and  at  last  burned  down  a 
barn  jes  for  a  fourth  o'  July  bonfire.  Would  'a'  been 
hung  if  his  master  hadn't  promised  to  sell  him  to  the 
plantations.  You're  not  after  cotton  hands,  sir?" 

"  Is  that  man  married  ?  " 

"  Wesley,  are  you  married  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  barn-burner,  curtly. 

"  Where's  your  wife  ?  " 

"  Don*  know.     Ain't  seen  her  this  two  year." 

After  one  or  two  other  lots  had  been  inspected 
Wentworth  and  Gephart  returned  to  the  counting- 
room. 

"  Seen  any  thing  you  like,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  that  fellow  who  burned  the  barn  can't 
be  trusted  ? " 

"  Well,  you  see,  that  don't  matter  on  the  plantation; 
not  much  chance  for  mischief  there." 

'*  Cheap  lot  that,  of  course  ?  " 

"  Nat'rally  ;  bad  character,  forced  sale,  strict  con- 
ditions; anybody  making  oath  to  take  him  to  a  cotton 
state  can  get  him  for  five  hundred." 

"  I'll  take  him." 


90  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  I  didn't  understand  you  was  going  that  way. 
What  state,  sir  ?  " 

"  South  Carolina." 

"  When  do  you  start  ? " 

"  Day  after  to-morrow." 

"  Where's  he  to  be  delivered  ?  " 

"  Can  I  take  him  now  ?  " 

"  There's  papers  to  be  made  out." 

"  I'm  at  Willard's  in  Washington." 

"  Can't  send  him  there;  he  must  go  from  here  straight 
south." 

"  I  shall  be  on  the  Acquia  boat  day  after  to-morrow." 

"  If  you  don't  mind  adding  five  dollars  he  shall  be 
at  the  Acquia  Landing  when  you  get  there." 

"All  right.  Papers  must  be  sent  to  Willard's 
to-morrow  morning,  showing  clean  title  ;  the  money 
shall  be  exchanged  for  the  man  next  day  at  Acquia, 
with  signed  oath  to  take  him  to  South  Carolina,  and 
through  tickets  shown  to  that  state." 

"  Tied,"  said   Gephart. 

4<  Oh,  you  needn't  tie  him." 

"  Perhaps  our  talk  up  here  isn't  plain  to  Carolina 
gentlemen;  it's  our  bargain  that's  tied,  sir."  \ 

"  Ah  yes,  of  course,"  said  Wentworth,  blushing  at 
his  slowness.  "  I  thought  you  might  think  it  neces- 
sary to  tie  such  a  dangerous  character.  Can  I  seethe 
rascal  alone  a  moment  ? " 

"  Certainly.     Jes  walk  in  the  yard;  I'll  send  him." 

Wentworth  strolled  into  the  yard,  which  was 
inclosed  with  high  walls,  and  waited  beneath  a  tree  at 
the  farthest  corner  until  he  was  approached  by  Wesley 
Hampton.  Intelligence  and  insolence  mingled  in  the 


FROM  THE  SHAMBLE  TO  LEROYLAND.        9 1 

handsome  face,  whose  complexion  was  that  sometimes 
called  "  saddle-colored."  He  confronted  Wentworth 
with  a  reckless  look  that  speedily  vanished. 

"  My  man,"  said  Wentworth,  with  a  gentleness  that 
made  the  negro  start  and  tremble, — "  I  have  bought 
you,  and  you  know  the  conditions;  you  must  be  taken 
South." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  now,  listen  to  what  I  am  about  to  say,  do  not 
forget  a  word  of  it,  and  do  not  show  any  excitement. 
You  will  travel  with  me  day  after  to-morrow,  and  I 
may  not  have  a  chance  to  talk  with  you  privately  till 
we  get  to  Richmond.  But  however  I  may  treat  you 
at  Acquia,  or  on  the  way,  from  the  time  you  belong 
to  me  you  are  a  free  man.  Don't  speak  of  it,  don't 
look  it,  let  nobody  suspect  it  ;  be  perfectly  quiet  and 
act  like  an  obedient  servant.  I  am  your  friend,  and 
you  shall  be  free,  but  I  shall  want  your  help  too. 
Now  remember,  be  careful  !  " 

"  O  master  !  O  Lord  !  "  gasped  the  negro. 

"  Keep  quiet — look  sullen — don't  let  those  negroes 
know  a  whisper  of  what  I  say.  Be  dumb  except  when 
alone  with  me.  Mark  you,  man,  a  blunder  may  cost 
your  liberty.  Don't  thank  me.  Now's  your  chance 
to  show  your  sense  ;  look  as  stupid  as  you  can  and  as 
sorry  and  sullen  as  you  can.  Now  we'll  go  in." 

"  Just  a  moment,  sir,"  said  the  man,  turning  his  eyes 
to  the  northern  horizon,  and  wiping  with  his  sleeves 
the  drops  of  sweat  that  started  out  on  his  forehead. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Wentworth,"  "  you  said  you  had 
a  wife;  where  is  she  ?  " 

u  Gone  where  I've  been  trying  to  follow   her— to 


9  2  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Georgia.  She  belonged  to  Mr.  Bullen  and  when  he 
died  two  years  ago  all  the  niggers  was  sold.  She  was 
sold  to  Georgia.  Niggers  from  here  mostly  go  there, 
sir.  That  place  couldn't  be  worse  than  where  I  was, 
and  I  wanted  to  go  there  too.  Easiest  way  to  go 
there  was  to  kill  somebody — they  don't  hang  only 
free  niggers — but  I  hadn't  it  in  me  to  more  than  fire 
a  house." 

"  Well,  Wesley,  we  shall  visit  that  region,  and  if 
you  know  where  she  is — " 

" — I  know  exactly — " 

"  We  may  be  able  to  help  each  other  a  good  deal. 
But  we  must  be  good  actors.  Now  down  with  your 
face,  and  go  in  !  " 

A  week  later  Wentworth  and  his  smartly-dressed 
servant  sailed  from  Charleston  to  seek  a  coast  island 
famous  for  its  variety  of  cotton,  a  considerable  order 
for  which  had  been  intrusted  to  him,  through  the 
influence  of  a  friend,  by  a  New  England  firm.  He 
would  thus  not  be  without  excuse  for  his  presence  on 
plantations,  should  any  be  required.  The  little 
steamer  that  plied  as  far  as  Leroy  Island  had  place 
also  for  his  horse  and  buggy,  purchased  in  Charleston. 
It  was  under  a  beautiful  dawn  that  the  two  men 
landed  and  immediately  set  forth  for  the  planter's 
residence.  The  roads  were  heavy,  but  Wentworth 
was  beguiled  by  the  rich  vegetation,  the  forest  aisles 
and  arches,  the  vast  ferns,  the  birds  of  brilliant  plum- 
age. Gradually,  however,  the  sparseness  of  human 
life  and  the  silence  became  oppressive,  and  then 
Wentworth  forgot  both  the  beauty  and  the  solitude  in 
listening  to  the  story  of  Wesley  Hampton's  life.  This 


FROM  THE  SHAMBLE  TO  LEROYLAND.        93 

man,  who  had  been  surreptitiously  given  some  educa- 
tion by  a  pious  old  mistress,  did  not  fail  to  recall  the 
kindly  hearts  that  had  sometimes  mitigated  the 
rigors  of  servitude,  and  confessed  that  he  would  not 
care  for  liberty  if  he  had  a  kind  owner  and  felt  secure 
against  being  parted  from  his  wife. 

At  length  Wesley  drove  up  to  the  door  of  Leroy 
House.  The  long  veranda  of  the  white  mansion, 
adorned  with  lemon-trees  and  oleanders,  the  flower- 
beds on  the  lawn  attesting  tender  care,  had  already  in 
a  way  introduced  the  mistress  of  the  house  before 
she  appeared.  Mrs.  Leroy  met  Wentworth  affably 
and  said  she  had  sent  his  card  to  her  husband,  who 
would  soon  return.  She  smiled  pleasantly  while  he 
was  apologizing  for  his  intrusion  and  regretting  that 
Mr.  Leroy  should  be  disturbed.  Meanwhile  fruit  and 
wine  were  brought ;  and  while  he  was  enjoying  this 
refreshment  the  planter  arrived. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  sir,  and  hope  you  will 
feel  yourself  at  home." 

The  man  who  with  these  words  grasped  Wentworth's 
hand  was  about  forty  years  of  age,  but  with  a  more 
youthful  look  in  his  dark  eyes  and  rosy  cheeks. 
When  Wentworth  apologized  and  declared  he  had  no 
business  of  sufficient  importance  to  call  the  planter 
from  his  affairs,  Leroy  interrupted  him  merrily. 

"  You  are  welcome  without  any  business  at  all. 
Any  gentleman  who  comes  all  the  way  out  of  the 
world  to  visit  our  little  nook  needn't  apologize. 
There  are  the  children  now,  peeping  at  you  as  an 
interesting  novelty — Sumter,  Eva,  come  in  ! " 

The  boy  scampered  off,  but  a  little  dame  of  some 


94  PINE  AND  PALM. 

nine  summers  entered,  nestled  about  her  father,  and 
beamed  welcome  on  the  stranger.  Wentworth  found 
every  thing  assumed  for  him.  As  he  had  not  been 
asked  whether  he  would  have  food,  he  was  not  allowed 
to  say  whether  he  would  remain  :  he  was  simply  shown 
to  his  room,  and  told  that  dinner  was  at  half 
past  two.  When  he  presently  descended  he  was 
received  with  -friendly  interest  by  two  pretty  young 
ladies — somewhere  between  seventeen  and  twenty 
years  of  age — and  "  all  this  time,"  he  reflected,  "  hot 
one  of  them  knows  who  I  am,  why  I  am  here,  or  that 
I  am  not  a  rogue." 

After  dinner  Wentworth  was  asked  whether  he 
would  drive  out,  or  walk,  or  sleep  in  a  hammock,  or 
play  graces,  or  do  nothing  at  all.  He  selected  the 
walk  and  was  guided  by  Mr.  Leroy,  his  wife,  and  the 
two  elder  daughters — Fanny  and  Bertha — through 
a  glade  with  archways  of  flowering  trees  to  a 
rivulet  flowing  amid  palmettos.  The  air  was  warm, 
the  young  ladies  wore  light  white  raiment  and  wide 
straw  hats,  and  the  Bostonian  was  charmed  away  from 
his  misgivings  about  his  right  to  all  this  cor- 
diality. Supper  was  ready  soon  after  their  return. 
Wentworth  was  warmed  into  a  new  kind  of  happiness 
by  this  unexpected  hospitality  ;  he  talked  like  an  old 
friend  of  the  family,  told  his  best  stories,  and  resolved 
that  he  would  never  withhold  any  fact  about  himself 
from  such  confiding  people.  Now  and  then,  however, 
he  became  grave  and  reflected  whether  a  perfectly 
frank  word  on  his  part  might  not  turn  these  bright 
faces  pale,  and  transform  his  trustful  host  into  an 
enemy.  A  little  time  afterward,  when  Mr.  Leroy  and 


FROM  THE  SHAMBLE  TO  LEROYLAND.       95 

Wentworth  were  smoking  together  on  the  veranda, 
the  first  step  toward  a  confession  was  taken. 

"  Mr.  Leroy,  I  have  heard  of  southern  hospitality, 
but  yours  is  more  than  I  could  dream  of  any  one 
extending  to  a  stranger." 

"  I  know  a  gentleman  when  I  meet  him,  Mr.  Went- 
worth, and  while  he  is  under  my  roof  all  that  I  have 
is  his." 

"  But  you  have  not  inquired  who  I  am  or  why  I  am 
here  ? " 

"  Well,  you  have  come  a  long  way  to  see  me  ;  the 
first  ^thing  after  a  journey  is  rest,  and  the  making  of 
acquaintance  ;  when  the  time  comes  for  any  business 
you  may  have  with  us,  I  shall  be  at  your  service.  It 
happens  to  be  my  inclination — and  I  may  be  a  sharper 
fellow  than  you  think — to  let  you  say  as  much  or  as 
little  about  yourself  as  you  like  till  I  have  occasion  to 
ask  more." 

"  I  am  grateful  to  you  and  your  family  for  this  con- 
fidence and  kindness.  Now  I  wish  to  say  this  much 
about  myself.  I  am  from  Boston.  The  dearest  friend 
1  have  is  a  Virginian  ;  we  have  been  for  some  years 
classmates  at  college  ;  he  and  his  friends  have  given 
me  letters  of  introduction  to  gentlemen  in  various 
parts  of  the  South  ;  I  am  traveling  that  I  may  learn 
more  of  this  region,  the  people,  and  especially  more  of 
the  system  of  slavery.  In  coming  to  this  plantation  I 
did  not  count  on  being  a  guest  in  any  private  house  : 
my  buggy  is  loaded  with  provisions,  and  even  a  tent. 
I  meant  to  buy  a  lot  of  cotton  for  a  New  England 
firm,  ask  to  be  shown  over  the  estate,  learn  as  much 
as  planter  or  overseer  chose  to  tell  me  about  the 


96  PINE  AND  PALM. 

hands  and  their  work,  pay  my  way,  and  travel  on 
elsewhere." 

"  A  very  fair  purpose,  Mr.  Wentworth  !  As  for  the 
cotton,  you  will  have  to  deal  with  our  warehouses  in 
Charleston.  For  the  rest,  I  fear  you'll  find  little  to 
repay  your  journey,  but  you  have  the  freedom  of  my 
estate  and  of  the  cabins.  You  are  welcome  to  all  the 
information  we  can  give  you.  I  don't  expect  you  to 
fall  in  love  with  our  institutions,  but  the  more  facts 
you  gentlemen  of  the  North  have  about  us  the  better. 
We  didn't  make  the  world,  and  take  it  as  we  find  it. 
On  this  plantation,  where  my  father  and  my  grand- 
father dwelt  before  me,  there  are  some  seven  hundred 
men  and  women,  white  and  black,  all  hard  at  work 
making  their  living — and  making  it  as  they  must.  We 
are  all  alike  servants  of  a  necessity.  There  is  not  an 
idle  one  among  us, — not  even  one  of  my  daughters  in 
there." 

"  I  have  said  my  best  friend  is  a  Virginian  ;  now  I 
may  say  the  most  generous  treatment  I  ever  received 
is  from  a  Carolinian.  It  is  worth  many  journeys  only 
to  have  this  conversation  with  you." 

"  Handsomely  said,  sir  :  it  would  surely  be  better 
for  the  country  if  northern  and  southern  gentlemen 
could  exchange  ideas  instead  of  affronts." 

The  notes  of  a  guitar  flitted  out  on  the  soft 
evening  air.  The  two  elder  sisters  sang  together  a 
Spanish  song,  which  blended  with  murmurs  of  the 
trees,  and  the  light  of  an  evening  star  that  almost  cast 
shadows.  And  this  was  a  cotton-plantation  !  Went- 
worth glanced  in  at  the  window  on  the  tableau  of  fair 
and  happy  faces,  and  remembered  the  words  of  the 


FROM  THE  SHAMBLE   TO  LEROYLAND.        97 

man  whose  body  and  soul  he  had  bought "  If  I 

could  only  feel  secure  against  being  parted  from  my 
wife  ! "  Fancy  an  auction-block  set  beside  that 
happy  group,  and  a  cold-blooded  stranger  putting  up 
that  lovely  lady,  those  daughters,  to  the  highest  bid- 
der !  <  Here,  gentlemen,  is  a  first-rate  lot.  Stir  your- 
self, girl,  and  show  the  gentlemen  how  you  can  play 
the  guitar  !  '  Wentworth  shuddered  at  the  thought, 
and  it  flitted  away  among  the  bats. 

When  the  gentlemen  rejoined  the  ladies  there  was 
more  music,  which  was  suspended  during  a  visit  from 
the  Baptist  preacher.  A  good  phlegmatic  sort  of  man, 
apparently,  was  this  Mr.  Haswell,  who  had  the  chief 
care  of  souls  on  the  plantation.  He  now  came  to 
make  some  usual  reports.  Old  Nancy  was  dead  at  last. 
They  say  Old  Joe  was  seen  near  the  house  last  night — 
that  superstition  continues.  "  Aunt  Nancy  died  this 
afternoon  ;  she  sent  her  love  to  you  all — especially 
Miss  Fanny,  with  thanks  for  the  preserves,  and  hopes 
she  will  give  her  heart  to  the  Lord."  (The  sisters 
droop  their  heads  :  Fanny  drops  a  tear  as  she  says 
"  poor  Aunt  Nancy.")  Blind  Peter  was  rather  better, 
and  Dr.  Burrows  believes  he  will  last  the  winter  ; 
"the  old  man  talked  a  good  deal  about  you,  Miss 
Bertha — your  visit  cheered  him  up.  Old  Adelaide 
hopes  you'll  come  again  ;  she's  had  a  blessed  vision, 
since  you  sang  her  that  hymn,  which  she  mustn't 
tell  to  any  body  but  you."  The  minister  continued 
these  reports  for  some  time,  little  knowing  how  deeply 
they  interested  the  stranger  present. 

"  How  many  are  to  be  baptized  Sunday,  Mr,  Has- 
weil  ? "  asked  Leroy. 


98  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  Yours  and  Scott's  together,  there'll  be  thirty 
gathered  in.  Scott's  Virginia  man,  Charles,  who  killed 
your  hand  Humphrey,  has  been  converted  and  will  be 
baptized  Sunday.  There's  great  rejoicing  over  him. 
Jane's  to  be  baptized  at  the  same  time.  I  think  they'll 
be  married  before  long." 

"Won't  you  spend  the  night,  Mr.  Has  well  ?"  said 
Mrs.  Leroy,  as  the  preacher  took  up  his  hat. 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  must  call  on  Petty  a  moment 
to-night,  and  start  for  Scott's  early.  Is  there  any 
thing  you've  got  to  suggest  about  next  Sunday's 
sermon,  Mr.  Leroy  ?  " 

"  I  believe  not.  Old  Nancy,  as  you  know,  was  a 
faithful  servant.  Fanny,  is  there  any  thing  you  wish 
said  ? " 

"  Only  this — she  was  always  glad  to  hear  the  new 
hymn  Cousin  Lucy  sent  me,  '  Nearer,  my  God,  to 
Thee.'  Mr.  Haswell  knows  it." 

"  I've  heard  you  and  Miss  Bertha  sing  it,  but  I 
don't  remember  all  the  words.  Could  you  send  them 
to  me  ? " 

"  I'll  send  them  to-morrow." 

"  Daughters,  why  not  sing  them  on  Sunday  ?  "  said 
Leroy. 

"  That  indeed  would  be  a  help,"  said  the  preacher. 

The  young  ladies  having  consented,  the  preacher 
left,  and  soon  after  the  family  retired.  Wentworth 
lay  Bwake  with  his  thoughts  for  some  time,  then  sank 
to  sleep,  and  to  a  dream  of  moving  over  a  blue  sea 
with  Stirling. 


CHAPTER    XL 

A    CAROLINIAN    PROSPERO    AND    HIS    ISLANDERS. 

T7ARLY  the  next  morning,  while  Wentworth  lay 
L/  contemplating  his  pretty  room, — its  snow-white 
drapings,  its  brass-mounted  mahogany  furniture,  dark 
with  age — his  man  Wesley  brought  his  boots  and  a 
whisk  for  his  clothes. 

"  Good-morning,  Wesley ;  have  you  had  a  good 
rest  ?  " 

"  Perfect,  sir,  thank  you,  and  hope  the  same  of 
you,  master." 

"  Yes,  I  slept  well.  I  suppose  your  new  acquaint- 
ances have  a  good  deal  to  say  about  this  place  and  the 
family  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  Mr.  Leroy  and  his  family  are  famous 
among  colored  people  a  hundred  miles  round  as  the 
best  people  in  the  country  to  their  servants.  Every 
hand  wants  Mr.  Leroy  for  a  master." 

"  Did  they  ask  you  about  yourself  and  me  ? " 

"  They  were  curious,  sir,  but  I  remember  what  you 
told  me  ;  I  only  let  them  know  I  came  from  a  hard 
master  to  a  good  one." 

"  They  all  like  the  Leroys,  then  ?  " 

"  The  only  fault  they  find  in  them  is  that  they  ain't 
saved." 

"  Aren't  saved  !  " 

"Mr.  Leroy  don't  go  to  meetin',  sir,  'less  it's  a 


ioo  PINE  AND  PALM. 

funeral,  and  won't  join  any  church.  Every  month 
the  'piscopal  parson  comes  round  and  preaches  in  the 
neighborhood  ;  the  family  go  to  hear  him  ;  but  most 
colored  folks  don't  look  on  that  as  any  religion  at  all. 
The  parson  stays  here  when  he's  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  plays  cards  with  them,  and  they  all  dance. 
That's  why  they  say  the  family  ain't  saved.  No  fault 
found  with  them  but  that." 

"  Well,  AYesley,  they  are  '  saved '  enough  for  me 
if  they  treat  their  servants  well." 

"  You  are  right  there,  sir.  Even  the  overseers  here 
are  good — 'cept  one." 

Breakfast  —  an  overwhelming  breakfast  —  was 
through  by  eight.  There  was  rejoicing  at  the  arrival 
of  St.  George,  eldest  of  the  Leroy  offspring  and  near- 
ing  his  majority,  who  had  been  sent  on  a  responsible 
expedition  to  a  remote  part  of  Georgia  to  superintend 
the  transfer  of  some  negroes  consigned  by  a  law-suit 
to  the  Leroy  estate.  The  youth  was  good-looking, 
sun-tanned,  full  of  animal  spirits,  and  proud  of  having 
acquitted  himself  successfully  in  this  important  trust. 
Wentworth  read  in  St.  George's  eye  a  suspicion  that 
he  was  after  one  of  his  sisters.  When  he  was  intro- 
duced as  "a  gentleman  from  Boston,"  that  theory  dis- 
solved into  the  supposition  that  the  guest  was  a 
Yankee  manufacturer  come  for  bargains.  St.  George 
was  transparent  as  a  rivulet,  and  happily  his  babble 
was  rather  melodious. 

"You  must  not  consider  it  necessary  to  rise  so 
early,  Mr.  Wentworth,"  said  Mrs.  Leroy.  "  We  have 
to  be  early  people,  but  you  can  always  get  some 
breakfast  later." 


PROSPERO  AND  HIS  ISLANDERS. 

"  Thank  you  for  the  \indtilgeace,  >but  vl 
been  lately  used  to  college  hours  and  desire 
to  make  the  most  of  my  time.  I  find  my  north- 
ern notions  about  you  southerners  at  fault  ;  you 
are  supposed  to  rise  late,  spend  your  time  in  ham- 
mocks, or  sipping  juleps  and  sherbets,  while 
watching  negroes  at  work  ;  but  I  find  you  stirring 
with  the  early  birds.  I  fear  Boston  aristocracy  is  at 
this  moment  in  deshabille/' 

Wentworth's  frankness  made  an  agreeable  impres- 
sion ;  the  ladies  turned  on  St.  George  glances  that 
said  plainly — you  see  he  is  a  manly  fellow,  comes  out 
with  what  he  thinks  :  we  like  him,  and  so  must 
you. 

After  breakfast  a  bell  was  sounded  through  the  house 
and  grounds  by  a  small  negro  lad,  who  magnified  his 
office  ;  some  thirty  servants,  Wesley  among  them, 
filed  into  the  room  and  occupied  seats  along  the  wall. 
Leroy  read  a  psalm  from  the  family  Bible  ;  the  sisters 
sang  a  hymn  in  which  St.  George  joined,  but  not  the 
negroes, — one  or  two  of  the  women,  however,  swaying 
to  and  fro  with  the  music,  their  eyes  closed.  Then  all 
kneeled,  and  the  planter,  with  reverential  voice,  read 
a  prayer. 

Horses  for  Leroy  and  his  guest  were  ready  at  the 
door,  and  they  were  soon  on  their  way  to  the  fields 
devoted  to  upland  cotton.  From  a  hill-top  Wentworth 
presently  looked  for  the  first  time  on  the  white  wonder 
of  plains  whose  plants,  bending  and  rising  under  the 
wind,  made  a  creamy  sea,  in  which  there  were  forms 
that  looked  in  the  distance  like  sportive  bathers.  The 
scene  was  strangely  beautiful,  The  bolls  were  all 


PINE -AND  PALM. 

,  there  .vya?  ,iiq  effect  of  snow  on  the  land- 
scape, for  a  tint  as  if  left  by  a  golden  dawn  toned  the 
expanse  to  a  character  of  its  own.  When  an  intervening 
quarter  of  a  mile  was  passed,  Wentworth  listened  for 
some  voices  from  that  soft  foam,  but  heard  none  ;  the 
sportive  bathers  had  turned  to  silent  negroes  picking 
bolls  and  bearing  them  in  baskets.  They  were  pictur- 
esque,— the  men  in  shining  straw  hats  and  white  or 
blue  shirts,  the  women  in  white  gowns,  and  some  with 
gay  bandana  head-dresses.  Beneath  this  sky,  amid 
these  fields,  they  were  aesthetically  in  the  right  place  ; 
their  dark  faces  and  natural  movements  were  har- 
monious with  the  animation  of  the  scene.  But  their 
silence  was  oppressive.  Only  one  voice  Wentworth 
heard  as  he  presently  walked  along  the  rows, — an  old 
woman's  voice  crooning  a  funeral  hymn,  with  long 
spaces  of  silence.  This  was  the  solitary  note  that 
reached  him  from  the  scene  that  appeared  so  gay  in 
the  distance. 

An  overseer  moved  about  vigilantly,  but  bore  no 
whip  or  visible  weapon.  Long  before  Darwin  was 
heard  of,  natural  selection  on  southern  plantations 
had  evolved  the  rebellious  out  of  existence,  and  pre- 
served the  submissive.  One  man,  unarmed,  could 
command  these  hundreds.  But  he  could  not  make 
them  laugh  or  sing. 

After  the  rest  of  the  morning  had  been  passed 
in  examining  the  steam-gins,  Leroy  proposed  that 
they  should  return  home  ;  at  which  his  guest's  regret 
was  evident. 

"  I  hope,  Mr.  Wentworth,  you  are  not  under  neces- 
sity of  hurrying  your  observations ;  it  takes  a  little 


PROSPERO  AND  HIS  ISLANDERS.  103 

time  to  show  even  what  little  we  have  in  this  monot- 
onous region." 

"It  is  not  monotonous,— I  am  much  interested,— 
but  I  must  soon  start  on  my  further  travels." 

"  If  you  must  go  I  must  speed  the  parting  guest ; 
but  I  should  do  so  with  uncommon  regret.  I  think  you 
would  make  a  mistake  in  rushing  through  what  you 
have  come  so  far  to  see." 

"  I  am  very  grateful  to  you  and  Mrs.  Leroy — " 

"  Are  you  ?  "  interrupted  Leroy  laughing,  "  Then 
show  it.  Mrs,  Leroy  and  the  girls  are  planning  a  little 
something-or-other  which  your  leaving  would  upset." 

«  But—" 

"  Ah,  confess,  there's  no  necessity  in  the  case,  only 
politeness.  You  do  not  wish  to  press  on  our  hospi- 
tality. But  consider  the  other  side  :  may  I  not  desire 
to  know  New  England  as  much  as  you  the  South  ? 
Is  it  fair  to  see  our  ways,  then  run  off  before  I  have 
begun  to  explore  yours  ?  No,  sir — you  will  find  me 
shrewd  as  a  Yankee,  and  not  be  released  so  easily." 

"  You  southerners  are  a  race  of  lawyers.  I  accept 
your  hospitality  and  stay  till  Monday." 

"  Sufficient  unto  Monday  is  the  evil  thereof.  For 
the  present  I  must  reflect  that  I  am  under  promise  to 
give  my  Lily  a  ride  home,  and  to  be  in  good  time  for 
dinner.  Mammy — that's  cook — has  a  haunch  of  ven- 
ison in  hand,  and  if  it  has  to  wait  she  becomes  a 
whole  negro  insurrection  in  herself." 

In  such  merry  mood  Leroy  galloped  with  his  guest 
to  a  cabin  in  a  grove — the  school-house  as  he 
explained  where  the  children  of  several  families  were 
taught  by  Miss  Stringfield,  the  parson's  sister  ;  she  was 


104  PINE  AND  PALM. 

originally  employed  by  the  Leroys  for  their  own  chil- 
dren alone,  and  lived  with  them,  though  absent  the 
last  night.  There  was  no  lack  of  voice  among  these 
little  laborers  ;  the  cabin  was  humming  like  a  hive  ; 
but  it  grew  still  with  excitement  when  the  two  gen- 
tlemen entered.  Miss  Stringfield,  a  tall  handsome 
lady  of  some  two  and  twenty  years,  received  them 
graciously.  The  children  sang  one  English  glee  for 
them :  after  which  Leroy  asked  for  a  recitation, 
declaring  that  the  teacher  was  accomplished  in 
that  way,  and  particularly  successful  in  training  ora- 
tors. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Leroy,"  said  the  blushing  mistress,  "  you 
always  make  a  swan  out  of  your  goose." 

"But  I  never  make  goose  out  of  swan,  Lotty. 
Come,  bring  us  out  an  orator — which  shall  she,  or  he, 
be?" 

"  Sumter  would  have  a  right  to  be  jealous  if  I  didn't 
choose  him,  for  he  spoke  l  Marion's  Men '  well  on 
Wednesday." 

"  Let's  have  it,  sonny." 

The  boy  came  forward — cynosure  of  eyes  glistening 
with  his  reflected  glory — and  took  his  stand  on  the 
neatly-decorated  platform.  He  was  nervous  at  first  ; 
when  he  came  to  "  The  British  soldier  trembles,"  the 
Briton's  agitation  got  into  Sumter's  voice  ;  but  he 
soon  righted  himself  and  went  on  bravely  to  the  end, 
receiving  due  applause.. 

"  A  noble  poem,"  said  Leroy. 

"  And  nobly  recited,  here  in  Marion's  land — by 
one  bearing  his  gaHant  comrade's  name  too,"  said 
Wentworth. 


PROSPERO  AND  HIS  ISLANDERS.  105 

"  I  wonder  how  it  is  the  South  does  not  produce 
poets  to  sing  her  own  deeds  ?  "  said  Leroy. 

"  Perhaps  such  are  growing  in  this  room,"  said 
Wentworth. 

"  We  may  have  the  Marions,  but  hardly  the 
Bryants,"  said  Miss  Stringfield. 

"  May  I  take  Lily  ?  "  said  Leroy. 

"  Certainly — Lily  get  your  hat." 

u  It  will  be  your  turn  next  time,  Eva,"  said  Leroy 
to  another  little  one,  who  looked  rather  grave. 

"  If  you  can  carry  Miss  Lily,  surely  I  can  take  Miss 
Eva,"  said  Wentworth. 

Blankets  were  laid  behind  each  saddle,  the  chil- 
dren sat  like  Amazons  ;  and  when  Wentworth,  who 
had  never  known  much  home  life,  felt  the  little  arm 
clinging  to  him,  another  was  added  to  the  silken 
threads  which  the  sunny  South  was  beginning  to 
weave  about  him.  The  horses  were  gentle  pacers, 
the  day  was  charming,  and  they  took  a  circuitous 
route  in  order  to  give  the  children  a  longer  ride. 

A  drive  in  the  afternoon  with  Mrs.  Leroy  to  visit 
some  of  her  pensioners  ;  listening  to  their  dreams  and 
lore  and  patois  ;  a  lesson  on  his  return  in  the  play  of 
graces ;  a  tale  told  the  children  ;  made  time  pass 
swiftly  for  the  guest.  In  the  evening,  while  the  three 
gentlemen  were  smoking  on  the  veranda,  bursts  of 
merriment  from  within  broke  on  their  ears. 

"  Lotty  Stringfield,"  explained  St.  George  ;  "  I  sup- 
pose she's  telling  them  a  yarn  about  her  visit  to  the 
Barnwells  last  night.  There  never  was  such  a  woman 
for  yarns.  I  do  believe  if  Lotty  had  only  seen  a 
watling  fence  there  she'd  have  the  girls  crying  or 


lc6  PINE  AND  PALM. 

laughing  about  it.  She's  a  one-er,  is  Lotty.  Just 
look,  sir  ! " 

Wentworth  glanced  in  at  the  window  that  opened 
on  the  veranda,  and  saw  Miss  Stringfield,  buttressed 
by  Eva  and  Lily,  the  rest  massed  in  semi-circle  around 
her.  It  was  a  pretty  picture  ;  the  teacher  in  that 
frame  of  young  faces,  all  in  the  mellow  candlelight, 
was  of  unique  beauty.  St.  George  threw  away  his 
freshly-lighted  cigar  and  went  to  join  them. 

"  Between  you  and  me,"  said  Leroy  with  a  laugh, 
"  I  sometimes  think  that  boy  of  mine  is  half  in  love 
with  the  parson's  sister." 

"  Judging  by  her  looks  his  taste  were  not  bad." 

"  But  she's  two  years  older." 

"  That  does  seem  a  little  too  much." 

"  Too  much  !  I  should  say  so." 

"  Still,  if  that's  the  only  thing  against  her,  he  might 
do  worse." 

"  I  must  say,  that's  the  only  thing.  She  has  not 
much  money,  but  she  has  what  money  can't  buy,  good 
sense  and  heart.  She  is  educated  ;  she  comes  of 
good  family — the  Stringfields  of  Virginia.  But  surely 
only  infatuation  would  make  a  youth  marry  a  woman 
older  than  himself." 

"  In  some  of  the  happiest  marriages  I  have  known 
the  disparity  of  years  was  on  the  lady's  side.  It  might 
not  do  for  all,  perhaps  not  for  St.  George,  but  there 
are  men  who  might  be  all  the  better  for  a  sort  of 
maternal  as  well  as  wifely  influence." 

"  An  ingenious  paradox  !  "  said  Leroy  laughing. 
"  I  fear  it  would  hardly  be  safe  in  this  region,  where 
girls  mature  so  early." 


PROSPERO  AND  HIS  ISLANDERS.  107 

"  Perhaps  Virginians  may  not  resemble  Carolinians 
in  that." 

"  Possibly.  Miss  Stringfield's  mother  was  a  Balti- 
more beauty,  and  she  was  educated  there." 

"  That  is  the  city  called  Beautiful,  so  far  as  its 
women  are  concerned." 

Next  day  Leroy  took  his  guest  to  a  remote  part  of 
the  plantation  where  his  best  Sea  Island  cotton  was 
produced.  The  border  of  this  tract  was  swampy,  and 
at  one  place  so  disagreeable  was  the  toil  that  it  was 
reserved  for  evil-doers — "  Not  a  hell,"  Leroy  said, 
"  but  a  sort  of  purgatory."  Rice  and  a  few  other 
things  were  produced  there  for  use  on  the  estate. 
It  was  on  the  edge  of  a  savannah  hedged  with  jungle, 
in  which  grew  enormous  fungi  and  other  rank  growths. 

"  A  negro's  eyes  are  remarkable,"  said  Leroy  ;  "  one 
of  his  eyes  is  a  magnifier,  the  other  a  multiplier.  One 
snake  becomes  a  thousand  vipers,  and  presently  an 
army  of  dragons.  Slimy  imps  lurk  about  here,  and 
ghosts — especially  about  a  certain  old  graveyard  half- 
adopted  by  the  swamp.  Thus  the  poor  fellows  make 
their  own  purgatory." 

"  What  are  their  chief  offenses  ?  " 

"  Lying  of  course  is  habitual  with  every  slave  ;  it 
is  his  natural  defensive  shell  under  which  he  draws 
up  like  a  tortoise.  Drunkenness  is  their  chloroform  for 
all  troubles.  Then  they  are  very  jealous.  A  pretty 
girl  on  a  plantation  is  as  dangerous  a  creature  as 
Helen  of  Troy.  The  rivals  become  panthers  when 
they  fight." 

u  And  the  punishments  ? " 

"  The  discipline  is  developed  out  of  the  conditions 


loS  PINE  AND  PALM. 

of  each  plantation.  The  punishments  are  subsidiary 
to  the  one  great  end — the  best  average  crop.  An 
overseer  indulging  persona  Ivengeance  is  discharged  ; 
it  would  tell  on  the  crop.  A  hand  disabled  for  one 
day  means  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  of  cotton 
disabled.  The  regulation  is — hurt  sometimes  but 
never  harm.  There  are  disagreeable  kinds  of  work 
for  the  refractory." 

"  But  in  the  case  of  crimes  ?  " 

"  The  law  is  merciful  to  a  homicide  worth  a  thousand 
dollars.  Imprisonment  is  more  costly  to  master  than 
slave.  Why  sentence  him  to  hard  labor  when  he  has 
it  already  ?  Slaves  can  not  be  punished  like  free  men. 
Courts  compound  their  felonies.  There  are  negroes 
in  all  these  states  who  would  have  been  hung  long 
ago  had  they  been  free.  Fortunately  the  negro  is 
rarely  a  daring  criminal,  for  he  is  the  man  least 
restrained  by  law." 

"  In  the  cabins  which  they  visited  Wentworth  rec- 
ognized many  indications  of  the  good  will  with  which 
Leroy  was  regarded  by  his  subjects.  He  already 
realized  that  he  was  on  the  estate  of  an  exceptional 
man.  The  slave  system  could  not  be  studied  in  all 
its  actualities  on  this  plantation  :  here  were  the  lights, 
but  he  must  seek  elsewhere  for  the  shades. 

But  the  thought  of  leaving  the  Leroys  saddened 
Wentworth.  In  this  sunny  land  confidence  between 
him  and  them  had  been  a  quick  growth.  There  was 
already  friendship  between  him  and  Leroy.  This 
island  to  which  he  had  drifted  was  so  environed  with 
beauty  of  strange  and  alluring  kind,  so  full  of  antique 
charm,  that  old  romances — as  if  Ponce,  and  Prester 


PROSPERO  AND  HIS  ISLANDERS.  109 

John— were  made  real.  Or  had  he  not  found  the  Isle 
of  Prospero  and  Miranda,  and  — 

"  Caliban,"  bluntly  asked  his  northern  conscience. 
"  Oh  yes — out  with  it  !  Caliban  is  Prospero  Leroy's 
long-heeled,  thick-lipped  slave,  for  whom  you  were 
just  now  pleading  at  Cambridge.  How  brutal  beside 
the  planter's  pretty  masque  !  " 

Whereto  his  Minott-Stirling  conscience  answered, 
that  he  had  engaged  his  abolition-conscience  to 
remain  for  a  time  in  judicial  suspense.  There  is 
always  something  provincial  about  a  man's  conscience 
— even  a  Boston  conscience.  What  would  his  friends 
there  say  if  they  heard  he  had  bought  a  slave  and  was 
the  guest  of  a  planter  ?  They  would  say  much  that 
wouldn't  be  true — as  you,  Mr.  Wentworth,  may  have 
been  saying  much  that  isn't  true  about  such  men  as 
Leroy  ! 

Thoughts  like  these  were  vaguely  haunting  Went- 
worth as  he  lay  on  the  grass  while  Leroy  was  convers- 
ing with  the  overseer.  He  had  heard  from  Wesley 
Hampton  that  one  overseer  was  an  object  of  negro 
dislike.  The  retributive  overseer,  probably  this 
man — Corbin  by  name — might  have  horn  and  hoof  in 
the  slave's  eye  ;  but  to  Wentworth  his  wooden  per- 
functory look  and  manner,  however  disagreeable,  were 
only  a  human-like  part  of  the  swamp  and  its  condi- 
tions. The  unruly  might  keep  away  from  him  and 
them  if  they  chose.  The  man  wouldn't  be  so  bad,  he 
thought,  if  one  were  sure  that  he  had  offset  in  cor- 
responding forces,  vigilant  to  allure  the  negro  to  the 
right  and  happy  way  as  he  was  to  enforce  conse- 
quences of  the  reverse. 


HO  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Just  then  came  dashing  up  on  horseback  the  three 
young  ladies  and  St.  George.  Their  healthy  faces 
and  clear  eyes  appeared  to  Wentworth  as  if  summoned 
by  his  thought.  What  civilizing  capacities  lay  in  those 
maidens  !  What  if  they  were  watching  over  the  rude 
minds  around  them  as  jealously  as  yon  machine-like 
overseer  watches  that  the  average  yield  of  his  slimy 
savannah  shall  be  secured  ! 

They  all  rode  home  together — St.  George  and  Miss 
Stringfield  indulging  in  a  race,  the  victory  being  gal- 
lantly surrendered  to  the  lady,  but  the  prize  passing 
to  him  in  her  heightened  beauty. 

"  Ah,  poor  Saint,"  said  she,  "  the  next  time  we'll  try 
who  can  come  in  last — then  you'll  be  sure  to  win." 

"  No,  Lotty,  the  next  time  I'll  ride  Black  Bess,  and 
you'll  be  nowhere.  I  gave  you  Bob,  and  took  Samson 
— who's  five  hundred  years  if  he's  a  day — and  that's 
the  thanks  I  get.  But  laugh  on  !  " 

When  the  house  was  reached  Miss  Stringfield  leaped 
from  her  horse  without  waiting  for  assistance  ;  but  the 
excited  animal  gave  a  start,  her  foot  missed  the  block, 
and  St.  George  sprang  forward  barely  in  time  to  save 
her  from  falling  under  the  horse's  feet.  She  limped 
as  she  entered  the  house,  but  was  laughing  at  the 
alarm  of  the  youth  on  whose  arm  she  leaned. 

"  She's  broken  her  leg,"  he  called  out,  pale  with 
fear. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Charlotte,  lightly. 

"  Probably  a  sprain,"  said  Mrs.  Leroy,  anxiously. 

Charlotte  was  laid  on  the  sofa  and  surrounded 
by  the  entire  family.  Mrs.  Leroy  discovered 
that  the  arnica  was  gone,  and  was  about  to 


PROSPERO  AND  ftfS  '&Q-tfl>&&$.  ill 

Send  for  some,  when  Wentworth  appeared  with  a 
leather  box,  from  which  he  drew  a  bottle  of  the  needed 
lotion.  The  children  glanced  curiously  at  this  box, 
and  it  presently  divided  attention  with  Charlotte  ;  out 
of  it  he  drew  scissors,  needles,  spools,  corkscrew, 
knife,  lenses,  nut-cracker,  twine,  and  a  dozen  other 
useful  things  ;  causing  much  merriment,  especially  to 
Charlotte,  who  forgot  her  foot. 

"  It's  only  a  slight  punishment  for  laughing  at 
Saint,"  she  said  meekly. 

"  No,  Lotty,  but  for  not  waiting  for  me  to  help  you 
down.  I  hope  you'll  wait  for  me  hereafter.  The  race 
is  not  always  to  the  swift." 

"  Nor  always  to  the  slow,"  said  Bertha. 

"Bertha,"  said  Charlotte,  "  I'll  send  you  into  a 
corner  if  you  say  another  word.  Saint  was  never  slow 
in  his  life  ;  if  he  hadn't  sprung  like  lightning  I 
would  have  been  trampled.  Thank  you,  Saint,  I'll 
wait  for  your  hand  next  time." 

Charlotte  kept  her  flow  of  spirits  during  the  even- 
ing, the  usual  circle  gathering  around  her  sofa.  St. 
George  was  ambitious  to  carry  her  to  her  room  in  his 
arms,  but  she  declared  that  an  elephant  required  two 
men,  and  limped  upstairs  between  him  and  Went- 
worth. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

BESIDE    THE    JORDAN. 

**  I'M  puzzled  to  think  what  to  do  with  you  to-day," 
1  said  Leroy  to  his  guest  during  the  Sunday 
breakfast. 

"  Mere  existence  is  enough  on  such  a  day,"  said 
Wentworth. 

"Yes,  St.  Martin  shares  his  cloak  with  us  also,  a 
son  of  Huguenots  may  say.  The  Indian  Summer  is 
not  aboriginal." 

"  The  '  Great  Spirit '  smiles  alike  on  Yankee  and 
southerner/' 

"  On  Sunday  our  plantation  becomes  a  bit  of 
ancient  Judea.  Indeed  it  is  largely  that  all  the  time  : 
one  place  is  called  Canaan,  the  meeting-house  is 
Bethel,  the  creek  near  it  Jordan." 

"  Ah,  Jordan — did  I  not  hear  there  were  to  be 
immersions  to-day  ?  I  have  never  seen  such  bap- 
tism." 

"  The  very  thing  !  " 

They  rode  off  soon  after  breakfast,  the  Jordan 
being  four  miles  distant.  As  they  approached  the 
meeting-house,  a  huge  wooden  building,  Leroy  said 
he  would  have  been  glad  to  make  it  prettier,  but  the 
negroes  have  a  pious  objection  to  beauty  in  churches. 
Already  a  long  white-robed  procession  was  moving 
Coward  the  water,  accompanied  by  a  large  crowd  in 


BESIDE    THE  JORDAN.  113 

its  finest  raiment.  The  long  cotton  robes  of  the  can- 
didates for  baptism,  reaching  to  the  feet,  formed  a 
graceful  and  even  classical  drapery.  When  the 
stream  was  reached  the  negroes  sang,  with  much 
enthusiasm,  "  On  Jordan's  stormy  banks  I  stand." 
Mr.  Haswell,  the  preacher,  also  arrayed  in  white,  read 
the  narrative  of  the  baptism  of  Jesus,  then  uttered  a 
prayer  containing  personal  allusions,  amid  ejaculations 
of  increasing  fervor  among  the  negroes.  He  then  went 
slowly  into  the  water  until  it  nearly  reached  his  waist, 
and  the  candidates  came  to  him,  one  by  one.  The  min- 
ister called  out  each  name  after  the  words  "  I  baptize 
thee,"  and  placing  one  hand  on  the  back,  the  other  on 
the  breast,  threw  him  or  her  backward  till  the  form 
disappeared,  and  lifted  them  again.  Meanwhile 
hymns  were  sung  by  the  assembly  on  the  bank.  Each 
person  baptized  was  received  by  friends  on  emerging, 
and  enveloped  in  a  cloak.  There  were  greetings, 
embraces,  and  ejaculations  of  joy.  The  waxing  emo- 
tion in  the  crowd  became  ecstasy  when  one  ha'ndsome 
youth  entered  the  water.  This,  Leroy  whispered, 
was  the  notorious  fellow  who  killed  one  of  his 
(Leroy's)  men  for  flirting  with  his  sweetheart.  There 
were  shouts  when  he  came  up  from  the  water,  and  a 
renewed  outburst  when  he  was  succeeded  by  a  comely 
quadroon,  who  proved  to  be  the  sweetheart  for  whom 
he  had  slain  his  rival.  Wentworth  found  the  scene 
picturesque  and  impressive  ;  he  could  never  forget 
the  radiance  on  the  faces  of  those  who  came  from 
the  water  :  to  those  uplifted  eyes  the  poised  hawk 
might  seem  a  dove,  and  every  noise  on  the  air  (ell  of 
their  beloved. 


H4  PINE  AND  PALM. 

In  the  meeting-house,  an  hour  later,  Wentworth 
was  an  object  of  keen  observation.  Did  the  negroes 
perceive  that  he  was  not  a  southerner  ?  Perhaps  his 
intent  interest  in  all  that  occurred  betrayed  his  alien- 
age. There  were  nearly  a  thousand  negroes  present 
and  their  united  voices  were  glorious.  Before  the 
preacher  appeared  the  assembly  began  a  wild  chant, 
quick  and  loud,  of  four  lines  : 

His  feet  like  polished  brass, 

His  legs  like  marble  pillars  ! 

His  head  is  white  as  any  lamb's  wool, 

And  his  voice  like  many  waters  ! 

When  the  multitude  had  got  as  far  as  "  many "  the 
leader  had  already  begun  again  with  "  His  feet."  It 
was  all  unison,  and  it  had  a  peculiar  impressiveness 
for  Wentworth  ;  perhaps  it  was  the  first  time  he  had 
heard  singing  strictly  meant  to  be  heard  in  heaven, 
and  without  intention  to  please  any  earthly  ear. 

Mr.  Haswell's  sermon  was  one  of  the  many  that  by 
their  po'verty  make  cultured  listeners  grateful  for  the 
Bible.  The  good  man's  resources  were  small,  partly, 
no  doubt,  because  not  needed,  his  humble  hearers 
requiring  nothing  less  than  apocalyptic  utterance  in 
every  sentence.  These  burning  biblical  sentences 
were  as  orient  gems  set  in  the  Haswellian  lead. 
Happily  the  humble  preacher's  lead  did  not  try  to 
glory  in  the  presence  of  his  chain  of  quotations  which 
linked  these  dusky  islanders  with  far  lands  and  ages, 
bore  them  through  wildernesses  to  promised  lands, 
and  raised  them  to  the  New  Jerusalem.  Strains  of 
eastern  poetry  set  to  music  of  heavenly  harps  became 
audible  as  angel-voices  to  people  whose  soul?  hacl 


BESIDE    THE  JORDAN.  115 

already  reached  their  resurrection,  the  earth-life 
being  sepulchred  in  slavery.  Songs  sung  in  many  an 
ancient  night,  plaintive  cries  and  hopes  born  of 
ancient  bondage,  living  through  thousands  of  years, 
had  found  their  way  to  bondmen  of  the  present  and 
gave  them  wings  to  rise  above  a  world  become  their 
grave.  How  many  tempest-tossed  souls  would  ex- 
change wealth  and  power  for  the  burdens  of  these 
lowly  ones,  to  know  their  absolute  faith,  and  visions 
that  impoverish  palaces  shining  on  these  unquestion- 
ing eyes  !  It  was  no  mere  anthropological  immortal- 
ity that  had  been  revealed  to  these  babes.  As  the 
preacher  invested  Aunt  Nancy  with  imagery  of 
Patmos  the  assembly  saw  her  as  a  spirit  beautiful 
beyond  fairest  queens,  singing  amid  the  palms.  The 
dance  of  ancient  Egyptians  around  their  dead, 
celebrating  their  entrance  to  paradise,  had  simply 
passed  from  feet  to  face  and  voice  in  these  believers 
whose  funeral  cry  was— Glory  ! 

At  the  end  of  the  sermon  Fanny  and  Bertha  stood 
in  front  of  the  congregation  and  sang  the  hymn  Aunt 
Nancy  was  said  to  have  loved — "  Nearer,  my  God,  to 
Thee  ! "  It  is  probable  the  old  woman  loved  the 
singer  rather  than  the  song.  The  negroes  listened 
silently  ;  they  were  evidently  grateful  to  the  young 
ladies,  but  this  hymn  was  not  for  them.  It  is  the 
hymn  of  an  age  that  dreams  it  is  dreaming. 

"  What  pleased  me  also  in  the  sermon/'  said  Wen^- 
worth,  when  they  were  talking  it  over  on  their  way 
home,  "was  his  use  of  hopeful  prophecies  and  absti- 
nence from  *  the  terrors/  He  never  summoncc] 
Satan  price./' 


Ii6  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  It  would  be  idle,"  said  Leroy  ;  "  the  darkies  think 
they  are  about  square  with  Satan,  hell  being  for  Dives. 
There  is  a  preacher  at  Ebenezer  who  has  thinned  his 
congregation  with  '  the  terrors/  The  negroes,  I 
sometimes  think,  believe  the  devil  is  chained  up  ;  and 
at  any  rate  he  has  a  wholesome  fear  of  Jordan  water, 
which  renders  them  invulnerable  to  his  fiery 
darts." 

"  I  shall  never  forget  the  impression  of  this  day," 
said  Wentworth.  "  Now  that  my  visit  draws  to  a 
close  my  gratitude  is  struck  speechless." 

"  You  will  go  then, — when  we  have  not  half  ex- 
changed ideas  and  experiences  ;  Massachusetts  and 
South  Carolina  being  left  as  far  apart  as  ever  ?  " 

Wentworth  was  genuinely  embarrassed.  Leroy 
must  be  saved  from  his  generosity,  and  in  some  way 
be  made  to  feel  how  profoundly  it  was  appreciated. 

"  I  will  stay  one  day  more,"  he  said. 

"  Good  !  Now,  will  you  let  me  know  if  there  is  any 
thing  more  you  wish  to  see  or  know  about  our 
negroes  ? " 

"  Yes — their  amusements.  We  hear  of  their  ban- 
jos, dances,  songs." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  you  can  not  see  that  kind  of 
thing  nearer  than  the  northern  theaters.  It  is  the 
burnt-cork  negro  alone  who  now  fiddles  and  dances.  I 
can  show  you  any  number  of  prayer-meetings,  but 
there  hasn't  been  a  negro  dance  in  this  region  for 
many  years.  I  can  barely  remember  seeing  one  '  break- 
down '  when  I  was  a  boy." 

"  How  do  you  account  for  the  change  ?  " 

"  The  gause,  a.s  J  think,  is  profound.     There 


BESIDE    THE  JORDAN.  117 

to  be  insurrections,  and  more  attempts  of  that  kind 
than  were  reported.  It  was  the  dancing  negro  who 
was  the  insurrectionist  He  still  lived  in  this  world  ; 
he  had  some  worldly  hopes  left.  By  inevitable 
necessity  he  was  *  weeded  out '  of  the  plantation, — 
roses  would  be  weeds  if  they  grew  amid  cotton. 
There  was  required  a  hand  that  would  adjourn  his 
dance  to  the  next  world,  hang  up  his  banjo  to  be 
resumed  as  a  heavenly  harp.  What  frolicsome  spirits 
remained,  after  the  worldly  and  rebellious  were 
improved  out  of  the  earth,  were  driven  into  camp-meet- 
ing convulsions.  The  preacher  who  instills  the  belief 
that  pleasure  is  hateful  to  God,  and  present  affliction 
the  measure  of  future  bliss,  is  the  real  overseer.  He 
has  reduced  flogging  to  a  minimum  ;  but  this  peace 
sometimes  strikes  me  as  something  like  that  of  a  ceme- 
tery. I  tried  one  Christmas  to  get  up  a  dance  for  the 
negroes,  but  failed." 

On  reaching  home  they  were  met  with  the  sad  report 
that  Charlotte's  foot  was  worse  ;  the  doctor  had 
shaken  his  head,  and  she  was  in  bed,  troubled  by  his 
doubt  of  her  ability  to  attend  school.  The  rest 
were  in  gloom  because  a  pic-nic  had  been 
planned,  and  Charlotte  had  agreed  to  give  half 
holiday.  A  pic-nic  without  Charlotte  was  inconceiv- 
able. 

"  It  is  indeed  unfortunate,"  said  Leroy,  "  for  Went- 
worth  can  stay  only  one  day  more." 

"  Only  one  day  more  !  "  cried  three  ladies  at  once, 

"  I'm  sorry  he  has  tired  of  us  so  soon," 

"  I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Leroy  —  " 


H8  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  But  our  place  is  very  dull." 

"Oh,  Miss  Leroy—-" 

"  Mr.  Wentworth  feels  he  has  been  here  six  months 
since  Thursday." 

"  You  too,  Miss  Bertha  !  " 

"  Give  it  him,  girls,"  said  Leroy,  with  mock  aside, 
adding,  "  Wentworth,  I  am  shocked  by  the  satire  of 
these  ladies,  but  what  authority  has  a  husband  or 
father  in  these  degenerate  days  ?  " 

"  My  dear  kind  friends,  I  have  coolly  quartered 
myself  on  you,  man  and  beast.  I  have  no  home 
in  which  you  can  come  and  quarter  yourselves. 
Do  you  mean  me  to  settle  down  to  law  practice 
here  ? " 

"  Do  !  "  cried  Bertha  ;  "  and  we'll  try  the  case 
whether  you  shall  go  or  stay." 

"What's  the  excitement?"  asked  St.  George,  just 
entering. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Wentworth  says  he  must  go, — he's 
going  Tuesday." 

"  Of  course  he's  going,"  said  St.  George,  "  do  you 
think  he's  got  nothing  better  to  do  than  stick  herewith 
you  girls  ?  No,  he's  going  ;  he's  going  with  me  for 
two  days'  shooting  in  Turkey  Forest.  I've  made  all 
the  arrangements." 

"  Oh,  that's  it,"  said  Fanny  ;  "  then  all  we  can  do  is 
to  sit  by  Lotty  and  mingle  our  sighs  till  you  both 
come  back." 

In  the  course  of  the  evening  Wentworth  conversed 
with  his  man  Wesley,  whom  he  found  enjoying  his 
stay  and  trying  to  make  hirqself  useful.  At  night  he 


BESIDE    THE  JORDAN.  119 

lay  awake  revolving  the  situation  in  which  he  found 
himself,  but  without  finding  it  grow  clearer.  Then  he 
sank  to  sleep  with  a  pleasing  memory  of  the  planter's 
daughters,  in  their  simple  white  dresses,  singing  to 
the  slaves. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

ONE    DAY    MORE. 

TTTENTWORTH  was  half  awakened  by  chatter  of 
VV  birds,  so  near  his  window  that  he  could  see 
their  tiny  forms  traced  in  shadows  on  his  curtain, 
with  the  boughs  on  which  they  sat.  Sorrowfully  he 
looked  out  on  the  fading  dawn  of  his  "  one  day  more  " 
in  this  beautiful  abode,  where  he  had  found  friendship. 
But  need  it  be  one  day  only  ?  At  least  he  might 
accept  St.  George's  invitation  for  a  shooting  excursion. 
It  was  plain  that  the  young  man  would  be  grateful  for 
his  company. 

"  Poor  Charlotte  is  worrying  dreadfully,"  said  Mrs. 
Leroy  at  the  breakfast-table. 

"  Is  her  foot  worse  ?  "  asked  Wentworth. 

"  No,  or  not  much  ;  but  it  is  out  of  the  question  for 
her  to  attend  her  school  to-day,  and  that  troubles 
her." 

"Tell  her  not  to  mind  that,"  said  Leroy;  " we'll 
send  word  that  she  has  sprained  her  foot,  and  the 
children  will  be  consoled  by  a  holiday." 

"Mamma,  what  does  papa  mean  by  consoled?" 
asked  Lily,  whose  private  question  happened  to  be 
heard  by  all,  and  caused  a  smile. 

"  He  says  the  children  will  be  so  glad  of  a  holiday 
£hat  they  won't  feel  so  bad  about  Charlotte's  foot  ;  but 


ONE  DAY  MORE.  1 21 

papa  doesn't  think  how  much  you  all  love  her,  does  he, 
Lily?" 

"  No  mamma,  he  don't.  I'm  sorry,  and  like  to  have 
her  well." 

"  Lily,"  said  Leroy,  "  mamma  has  suggested  a  possi- 
ble and  even  plausible,  but  hypothetical  and  by  no 
means  essential  construction  of  my  phraseology,  never- 
theless  " 

"  Don't  listen  to  him,  Lily, — he  doesn't  mean  any 
thing  at  all  this  time." 

"  What  does  Charlotte  wish  to  do  ?  "  asked  Leroy. 

"  She  hinted  about  the  children  coming  to  her  here, 
but  that  will  not  do  ;  she'd  never  get  well  that  way." 

"  It  would  do  if  it  were  necessary,  but  it  isn't." 

"  So  I  told  her,  but  you  know,  Mr.  Leroy,  what  kind 
of  person  she  is,  and  how  she  hates  not  to  fulfil  all 
her  engagements.  There  are  also  two  new  pupils 
coming  to-day,  Mrs.  Millward's  children,  and  Char- 
lotte had  set  her  heart  on  giving  them  a  pleasant 
reception." 

"  Mamma,"  said  Eva,  just  entering,  "  Miss  Char- 
lotte's crying." 

This  news  caused  Bertha  to  slip  out,  and  a  sympa- 
thetic silence  reigned  around  the  table,  till  St.  George 
said  it  was  "too  bad  to  have  Lotty  troubled  that 
way."  Then  Wentworth  had  an  inspiration. 

"  Leroy,"  he  said,  his  face  flushing,  "  in  response  to 
your  generous  desire  to  have  me  remain  I  said  '  one 
day  more  ; '  this  is  the  day — may  I  enjoy  it  as  I  like  ? " 

"  With  all  my  heart." 

"  Then  let  me  attend  to  the  school  in  Miss  Char- 
lotte's place." 


122  PINK  AND  PALM. 

"  Oh  Mr.  Wentworth  !  "  echoed  round  the  table, 

"  That  is  just  the  one  service  I  feel  able  to  do  fof 
those  who  have  done  me  many  favors  ;  it  would  ease 
my  mind  and  perhaps  the  sufferer  up-stairs.  I  can 
not  do  all  she  does  but  I  will  do  my  best." 

"Where  are  you  running  to,  Eva  and  Lily?"  cried 
Leroy. 

"  I'm  going  to  tell  Miss  Charlotte,"  said  Eva. 

"  Wentworth,  this  appeared  to  me  a  small  matter, 
but  nothing  is  small  that  will  give  you  any  satisfaction. 
I  honor  a  teacher,  yet  can't  quite  like  to  have  you  set 
to  work  ;  this  fine  day  too  ;  but  I  shall  not  oppose  one 
word  to  your  desire." 

Next  was  heard  Charlotte's  own  voice  from  the 
head  of  the  stair. 

"  Tell  him  I  will  not  hear  of  such  a  thing  !  " 

"  Gracious  !  she's  got  out  of  bed — run,  Fanny  !  " 

"  I  beg  you,  Miss  Leroy,  to  tell  Miss  Charlotte  that 
if  I  can  not  be  of  any  service  here  at  all  I  can  not  be 
happy,  and  will  leave  at  once.  Or  perhaps  you'd  bet- 
ter tell  her  she's  too  late — I've  gone.  Come,  chil- 
dren !  " 

Wentworth  glided  away,  the  children  rushed  after 
him,  and  Charlotte  from  her  window  saw  him  disap- 
pearing with  them. 

The  "  one  day  more  "  crept  into  others.  The  pic- 
nic and  the  shooting  were  indefinitely  postponed. 
The  doctor  said  Charlotte  would  be  lucky  if  she  could 
drive  out  at  the  end  of  the  week,  and  Wentworth  said 
no  more  about  leaving.  Every  morning  he  walked 
with  the  children  to  school ;  in  the  afternoons  enjoyed 
any  pastime  proposed  ;  in  the  evenings  smoked  and 


OXE  DAY  MORE.  123 

chatted  and  found  happiness  in  his  growing  intimacy 
with  these  new  friends.  Just  how  he  fared  with  his 
pupils  will  perhaps  never  be  made  known  with  histor- 
ical exactness  ;  but  it  is  known  that  in  several  homes 
simultaneous  reports  were  made  by  delighted  chil- 
dren which  brought  simultaneous  notes  begging 
the  Leroys  to  come  and  see  them,  and  "  bring  the 
gentleman  who  has  taken  Miss  Stringfield's  place,  the 
last  few  days."  Moreover  we  have  the  report  of  Eva 
and  Lily,  who,  on  returning  with  Wentworth  the  first 
day,  were  unable  to  pursue  usual  amusements,  even 
neglected  domestic  duties  of  the  baby-house,  but  sat 
clasping  Charlotte's  hands,  their  joint  memory  con- 
veying to  her  eager  ears  some  account  of  what  was 
said  and  done. 

"  Soon  as  he  came  he  shook  hands  all  round  and 
asked  every  one's  name.  .  He  talked  first  to  Susan 
and  Charley  Millward  .  .  they  are  nice,  Miss  Char- 
lotte .  .  he  said  he  hoped  they'd  like  the  school  and 
all  of  us.  .  Then  Andy  Scott  and  Tim  Barbour  got 
to  laughing  .  .  yes,  Eva,  and  Belle  too,  for  I  saw 
her  .  .  and  Mr.  Wentworth  didn't  take  no  notice  .  . 
any  notice,  Eva.  .  He  rose  up  .  .  just  as  pleasant  as 
could  be.  .  And  he  said  we  needn't  take  our  books, 
'cause  he  had  something  to  say.  .  ^cause,  Lily.  . 
The  boys  stopped  laughing  .  .  and  Belle  too.  .  And 
all  was  so  still.  .  He  said  you  had  sprained  your 
foot  and  couldn't  come,  and  he  would  teach  till  you 
were  well.  .  He  loved  to  teach.  .  He  said  so  many 
nice  things,  we  all  listened.  .  My  !  Didn't  we,  Eva. 
.  He  said  he  wanted  to  ask  us  questions.  He  asked, 
is  it  right  to  make  a  noise  in  school  .  .  And  nobody 


124  PINE  AX£>  PALM. 

said  a  word.  He  said  perhaps  that  young  gentleman 
.  .  that  was  Tim,  my  !  wasn't  Tim  pale  .  .  He  will 
tell  me  is  it  right  or  wrong  .  .  Tim  says  wrong  .  .  Will 
someone  else  tell  me  why  it  is  wrong.  Nobody  spoke  .  . 
He  said  we  must  not  be  afraid,  he  was  our  friend  .  .  He 
said,  noise  isn't  always  bad,  and  laughing  is  good,  but  in 
school  we  ought  to  be  quiet  .  .  If  any  body  was  about 
to  be  noisy  in  school  he  ought  to  say  to  himself,  if  I 
am  noisy  another  boy  or  girl  might  be  so  too,  and  all 
may  be  .  .  then  there  couldn't  be  any  more  school  at 
all  .  .  Miss  Charlotte  who  is  trying  to  do  you  good 
would  bid  you  good-by  and  never  come  back  .  .Oh 
— oh  .  .  Don't  cry,  Lily  .  .  Children  might  be  happy 
in  school.  He  liked  that  .  .  and  laugh  too  if  there 
was  any  thing  to  laugh  at  .  .  And  it  wasn't  making 
fun  of  anybody,  and  hurting  their  feelings  .  .  But  gig- 
gling and  playing  in  school,  is  mean  .  .  are  mean 
.  .  He  said,  will  any  one  tell  me  the  difference 
between  laughing  and  giggling.  Eva,  can  you  tell 
me  ?  Oh  Miss  Charlotte.  I  was  choking,  but  he 
looked  so  .  .  Eva  says,  we  giggle  sometimes  and 
can't  tell  why.  That's  right,  Eva,  he  said  .  .  Just 
think,  Miss  Charlotte,  I  was  right.  He  says,  when 
people  laugh  and  don't  know  why,  they  are  giggling 
.  .  That  ain't  .  .  isnt,  Lily  .  .  always  wrong  out  of 
school  .  .  And  what  do  you  think  he  did  ?  He  just 
went  to  the  blackboard  and  drew  a  lot  of  children  .  . 
not  us,  but  any  children  .  .  Some  had  their  mouths 
wide  open  laughing  fit  to  kill  .  .  one  was  poking 
another  .  .  two  or  three  hiding  their  faces  with  books 
.  .  And  then  a  picture  of  the  teacher  .  .  it  wasn't 
you  .  .  but  she  was  pretty  .  .  she  was  holding  her 


ONE  DAY  MOKE.  125 

fingers  in  her  ears  .  .  'cause  o'  the  noise  .  .  Realise 
Lily.  And  oh  how  we  laughed  !  He  said,  you're  not 
giggling  now  because  you've  got  something  to  laugh 
at  .  .  He  wanted  to  show  us  how  a  school  would  look 
if  all  fell  to  laughing  .  .  giggling  .  .  and  he  was 
going  to  wipe  it  all  out,  but  Andy  says,  please  wait 
till  Miss  Charlotte  sees  it  .  .  He  said  no,  I'm  glad  it 
made  you  kmerry,  but  we  must  now  go  to  our  books 
.  .  To-morrow  we'll  talk  again  .  .  and  he  taught  just 
like  you  .  .  and  there  wasn't  any  noise  all  day  .  . 
And  oh  Miss  Charlotte,  but  he  is  nice  !  " 

Again,  next  afternoon,  swing,  hoops,  baby-house, 
were  forgotten,  dolls  pined  in  neglect  ;  this  time  not 
Eva  and  Lily  alone  but  Sumter  also  contributed  to 
the  report,  while  Fanny  and  Bertha  swelled  the 
audience. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Charlotte,  such  a  talk  !  He  got  the 
boys  to  talk  too  .  .  He  talked  about  how  people 
ought  to  treat  each  other  .  .  Every  body  ought  to  be 
polite  .  .  'Specially  to  Miss  Charlotte  .  .  No,  Lily 
.  .  He  said  teacher,  though  .  .  He  asked  Charley 
Millward  how  a  gentleman  would  treat  a  woman  .  . 
Charley  said  he  would  be  polite  and  do  things  for  her, 
and  he  turned  out  to  be  right  .  .  He  asked  Sumter, 
why.  Sumter  said  focause  men  was  .  .  were,  Lily  .  . 
stronger  than  women  .  .  most  always  .  .  Mr.  Went- 
worth  said  he  saw  St.  George  dash  and  catch  Miss 
Charlotte  and  keep  hertfrom  falling  under  the  horse 
.  .  St.  George  was  against  the  horse's  hind  legs,  and 
the  horse  kicked  and  it's  a  wonder  he  didn't  hurt  him 
.  .  but  St.  George  didn't  think  about  himself  .  .  Real 
gentlemen  think  of  others  first  .  .  'Specially  ladies 


126  PINS  AND  PALM. 


.  .  He  told  us  the  story  of  St.  George  and  the  Dragon 
.  .  He  said  the  Dragon  meant  any  danger  at  all  .  . 
and  the  Princess  any  woman  at  all  .  .  Then  he  talked 
about  old  people  and  how  young  people  should  behave 
to  them  .  .  they  ought  to  offer  them  their  seat  .  . 
and  listen  to  what  they  think  .  .  He  asked  Tim  why 
.  .  He  said  because  they  had  lived  longer  .  .  He 
asked  Susie  Millward  if  living  longer  made  people 
know  more  .  .  She  said  yes  .  .  She  was  right  .  . 
*  Sir  '  means  older  .  .  So  does  Senator,  and  what 
else  Sumter  ?  .  .  The  Indian  '  Sachem  '  means  Aged 
Man  .  .  Old  people  may  be  mistaken,  and  not  know 
so  much  as  young  sometimes,  but  they  ought  to  be 
respected  .  .  The  young  people  will  grow  old  and 
then  they'll  want  to  be  respected." 

Every  morning,  as  it  seemed,  Wentworth  devoted 
a  half  hour  to  such  conversations  ;  the  children  were 
so  eager  to  hear  them  that  none  was  ever  late.  Duty 
to  parents,  to  each  other,  to  animals,  were  successively 
discussed  and  many  a  good  story  told.  One  delicate 
theme  he  thought  of  dealing  with  —  duty  to  servants  ; 
but  he  had  forgotten  there  was  no  school  on  Satur- 
day, and  it  never  came  off.  His  week  was  out.  The 
doctor  said  Charlotte  could  resume  her  duties  on 
Monday. 

After  dinner  Wentworth  was  invited  to  see  Char- 
lotte in  her  own  room,  where  he  found  her  looking 
quite  well,  though  she  remained  seated  in  her  wicker 
chair. 

11  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you  —  and  your  pretty  room 
too,"  said  Wentworth,  looking  around,  rather  artfully, 
for  he  saw  that  Charlotte  was  finding  it  difficult  to  speak. 


ONE  DAY  MORE.  127 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  "we  women  pet  our  rooms. 
But  sit  down  and  be  devoured  with  thanks— poor  as 
they  are — for  the  riches  lavished  on  my  children." 

"  Oh,  no  !  How  glad  I  am  your  foot  is  nearly  well." 

"  And  able  to  take  me  to  school.  You've  good 
reason  after  all  your  work." 

"  Miss  Stringfield,  may  I  see  your  foot  ? " 

"  My  foot  ?  "  exclaimed  Charlotte  laughing,  "  what 
on  earth  for  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  if  you  object — " 

"  Well,  there,"  said  Charlotte,  as  a  shapely  foot 
peeped  out. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  but  I  meant  the  culprit  foot,  the 
invalid  foot ;  I  want  to  thank  it  for  the  happiest  week 
I  ever  had." 

"  Mr.  Wentworth,  you've  sealed  your  doom,  and 
that  of  my  wretched  foot  too  ;  now  it  will  never  get 
well — Oh,  oh,  a  twinge  already  !  You've  got  to  go 
on,  and  on,  and  on,  teaching  those  children  to  the 
last  syllable  of  recorded  time  !  " 

"  But  think  of  the  cry  of  the  children  ;  had  you 
only  seen  their  sparkling  eyes  when  I  said  you 
would  be  there  Monday  !  " 

"  I  have  seen  some  children's  eye-sparkles  too  in 
this  room.  I  mean  to  be  serious.  I  have  seen  these 
Leroy  children  growing  under  my  eyes  this  week, 
mentally  and  morally.  I  have  heard  about  others. 
You  have  got  at  their  hearts,  and  what  you  taught  is 
graven  on  their  minds  with  a  diamond." 

"  This  is  indeed  encouraging." 

"  But  it  is  discouraging  to  think  of  it  ceasing.  Oh, 
why  can  not  a  beautiful  thing  last  forever  !  " 


128  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  The  beautiful  work  went  on  before  I  came  and 
shall  go  on  now  that  I  leave.  I  found  those  children 
devoted  to  their  teacher,  the  thought  of  what  she 
would  approve  always  in  their  minds,  their  studies 
advanced  ;  the  cabin  grew  poetical  as  it  was  revealed 
what  loving  art  had  set  there  at  its  task." 

Charlotte  did  not  venture  to  speak,  but  her  cheeks 
were  eloquent.  At  length  she  said,  "  When  ? " 

"  Do  I  leave  ?     Monday." 

"  Now  be  confiding  !  You  can  say  to  me  what  "you 
would  not  to  the  Leroys,  and  I  shall  not  tell  them  : 
are  you  leaving  from  inclination  or  by  demand  of 
duties  ?  Do  trust  me  !  " 

"  I  will,"  said  Wentworth,  after  hesitation.  "  The 
imperative  duty  is  not  to  press  unfairly  the  boundless 
generosity  of  these  dear  friends.  I  have  had  two 
weeks  of  happiness,  but  must  go." 

"  You  are  making  a  mistake.  But  I  will  not  argue 
it  now ;  we  are  all  about  to  drive  out,  and  I  will  be 
obliged  for  your  arm  down  stairs.  Thank  you.  Now 
I  will  beg  as  a  personal  favor,  that  you  will  not  leave 
Monday,  but  stay  one  day  more." 

"  How  would  that  help  you  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Charlotte,  limping  a  little,  as  they 
approached  the  stairs,  "  it  will  be  my  first  venture — my 
foot  you  know — I  might  have  to  move  about — there 
are  a  dozen  reasons  why  I  want  you  Monday." 

"  That  is  sufficient  ;  you  want  me — I  stay." 

"  What's  the  matter,  Charlotte,"  cried  Mrs.  Leroy 
from  below,  seeing  the  teacher  leaning  on  Wentworth's 
arm  and  limping  ;  "  have  you  hurt  yourself  again  ? 
You  moved  about  briskly  this  morning." 


ONE  DAY  MORE.  129 

"  You  hateful  woman  !  You  can't  let  a  body  do  a 
bit  of  acting  but  you  must  come  out  at  the  wrong 
time  and  catch  'em  ! " 

With  these  words  Charlotte  ran  down  stairs  with  a 
ringing  laugh  and  stood  there  awaiting  her  escort. 

"  A  clear  case  of  false  pretenses,"  he  cried — "  Oyez, 
oyez  !  " 

"  Please  the  court,  if  weak  woman  can  only  get 
things  from  tyrant  man  by  false  pretenses—" 

"  What  mischief  has  she  been  up  to  ? "  asked 
Mrs.  Leroy. 

"  Not  guilty,  but  don't  do  it  again/'  said  Went- 
worth. 

"  Never !  An'  may  the  blissed  saints  reward  yer 
'onor  !  " 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

A  SUNDAY    PIC-NIC.  ! 

THE  Rev.  Phayr  Stringfield  did  not  come  to  the 
Leroys  on  Saturday,  as  they  expected,  being 
under  promise  to  stay  that  night  with  the  Scotts,  but 
sent  word  that  he  would  return  with  them  from  church. 
Wharton  Church  was  ten  miles  distant,  but  it  was  a 
pleasant  drive,  and  the  monthly  service  there  was 
occasion  for  a  parish  pic-nic.  The  ancient  building 
was  in  shape  of  a  Greek  cross,  without  architectural 
pretensions,  but  grateful  to  the  eye  by  reason  of  its 
large  and  solid  dignity,  and  its  situation  in  a  venerable 
grove  of  white  oak  and  hickory.  It  was  a  colonial 
edifice,  more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  old  cer- 
tainly, built  of  large  red  bricks.  Above  one  gable  rose 
a  square  tower,  with  belfry.  There  was  a  tradition 
that  when,  for  many  years,  the  church  was  deserted, 
slave  traders  had  made  it  their  headquarters,  imprison- 
ing there  the  smuggled  Africans  till  disposed  of  among 
the  planters.  The  walls  inside,  lofty  and  spacious, 
had  no  ornament  save  texts  in  evergreen,  and  black 
wooden  tablets  with  golden  letters,  on  which  were 
inscribed  the  Decalogue,  the  Lord's  Prayer,  and  the 
Apostles'  Creed.  The  massive  pulpit  was  perched 
high  at  a  central  angle,  and  two  reading-desks  were 
passed  in  the  ascent  to  it.  The  round-arched  windows 


A    SUNDAY  PIC-NIC  131 

were  stained  only  by  the  autumn  foliage  visible  through 
them. 

More  than  a  hundred  persons  gathered  for  the 
morning  service,  generally  of  the  wealthy  class.  All 
greeted  each  other  as  they  entered,  and  were  seated 
some  time  before  the  clergyman  arrived.  Wentworth 
found  the  airy  church,  so  full  of  light,  the  placid  faces, 
the  red  and  golden  leaves  outside  the  great  windows, 
all  so  restful,  that  he  dreaded  to  have  the  sweet  silence 
broken.  But  the  clergyman  came,  the  old  litany  was 
read,  the  hymns  sung — without  choir  or  organ — and 
Mr.  Stringfield  began  his  sermon.  A  striking  figure, 
certainly — tall,  slightly  bent  (though  not  more  than 
thirty),  long-headed,  heavy-browed,  with  small  mouth; 
the  large  nose  buttressing  a  full  brow  under  bushy 
brown  hair;  the  gray  eyes  of  variable  shade,  the  pale 
complexion  at  times  overspread  with  swift  color.  His 
voice  was  sympathetic,  his  manner  was  simple,  and 
almost  sleepy  when  he  began;  but  there  was  a  certain 
charm  in  the  eye,  which  appeared  as  if  resting  on  the 
pastoral  scene  he  described.  For  the  subject  was  the 
Good  Shepherd.  His  manner  became  less  languid  as 
he  passed  from  the  primitive  shepherd  life — gradual 
extermination  of  the  violent  and  preservation  of  the 
peaceful  animals  by  human  vigilance  and  fidelity— to 
the  symbol  which  grew  out  of  it.  The  rude  picture 
drawn  by  some  hunted  Christian  on  a  wall  in  the  Cata- 
combs of  the  Good  Shepherd  bearing  a  lamb  in  his 
arms,  the  later  splendors  with  which  art  invested  the 
humble  theme,  were  described  with  fine  touches, 
Some  doctrinal  details  followed  which  Wentworth  lost. 
The  present  was  too  interesting  for  the  past  to  charm 


132  PINE  AND  PALM. 

him  away;  Leroy  Island  was  too  full  of  wonders  for 
his  imagination  to  wander  even  in  Palestine  ;  before 
him  rose  visions  of  the  white-robed  slaves  beside  their 
Jordan,  the  Leroy  sisters  singing  in  the  island  Bethel, 
and  Charlotte  bearing  the  lambs  in  her  arms.  How 
unconscious  they  were  in  their  gentle  service  !  What 
awaited  them  in  the  future  ?  And  what  would  befall 
those  sheep  of  poor  Haswell's  pasture,  so  dumb  before 
their  shearers  ? 

How  far  the  clergyman  had  gone  in  his  sermon 
Wentworth  knew  not,  when  his  reverie  was  broken  by 
a  movement  at  his  side  :  it  was  a  bronzed  old  squire 
feeling  for  his  handkerchief;  tears  were  on  his  hard 
cheek.  Wentworth  raised  his  eyes  to  the  preacher, 
whose  head  presently  appeared  encircled  with  soft 
light,  while  his  voice  was  pure  melody.  Do  not 
imagine,  he  said,  that  the  Good  Shepherd  gave  his 
life  for  the  sheep  only  in  Palestine,  or  bore  in  his  arms 
only  the  lambs  of  flocks  long  perished.  On  these 
islands  and  savannahs  he  moves  to-day.  Whenever 
hearts  are  faithful  to  their  lowly  trust,  there  is  he  : 
wherever  maternal  love  sleeplessly  watches  over  souls 
that  may  stray  where  evil  passions  lurk,  wherever 
paternal  prudence  guards  young  steps  that  may  move 
upward  or  downward,  where  lower  tendencies  are 
restrained  by  high  example,  sorrow  soothed  by  sym- 
pathy, wrath  turned  away  by  the  soft  answer — there 
see  the  Shepherd  daily  giving  his  life  for  the  sheep  ! 
Think  not  that  an  age  of  asylums  and  schools  has  out- 
grown the  need  of  individual  care  for  each  several 
mind  and  heart,  with  its  several  sorrow  or  danger.  It 
is  the  Good  Shepherd  whose  patient  care  cultivates 


A    SUN  DA  Y  PIC- NIC.  133 

the  individual  thinker,  the  finer  character,  the  pure 
love  and  friendship,  the  happy  life,  in  our  homes. 
Shall  we  not  consider  the  poor,  as  well  as  provide 
poor-houses  ?  Shall  we  not  be  good  shepherds  to  our 
servants,  so  kelpless  in  our  hands?  While  worship- 
ing the  Great  Shepherd  on  high,  shall  we  feed  his 
African  sheep  only  for  our  own  fatness?  Their  lot  is 
not  to  be  deplored;  it  needs  only  our  compassionate- 
ness  to  be  made  almost  enviable.  No  political  systems 
can  make  human  beings  happy;  under  any.  system 
that  must  remain  the  work  of  the  Good  Shepherd  who 
cares  for  every  soul,  and  feeds  the  heart's  hunger  with 
his  flesh  and  blood. 

These  thoughts,  spoken  with  great  freedom — no 
cautious  interpolations — arrowlike,  feathered  with 
pathos,  shining  with  sincerity,  found  their  way  to 
every  breast,  and  there  turned  to  roses.  The  sacra- 
ment followed,  after  which  the  congregation  distributed 
itself  in  groups  under  the  trees.  Hampers  were  brought 
forth,  cloths  spread  on  the  grass,  so  near  each  other 
that  all  virtually  dined  together  ;  and  there  was  plenty 
of  mirth. 

"I'm  sorry  for  you,"  said  Leroy,  taking  Went- 
worth's  arm,  "  but  the  school-children  have  spread 
your  fame  and  you're  in  for  it ;  one  party  bids  for  you 
with  partridge,  another  with  sucking-pig.  The  par- 
son's delighted  to  have  a  vice-lion,  for  he  hates  to  eat 
and  talk  before  preaching  again.  So  meet  your  fate 
like  a  man  !  " 

Wentworth  was  presently  bowing  to  blushing 
maidens  with  chicken  or  pastry  in  their  dainty  fingers, 
and  apologies  struggling  from  full  mouths.  Men 


134  PINE  AND  PALM. 

grasped  his  hand,  matrons  thanked  him,  for  the  hap- 
piness he  had  given  their  children  ;  several  asked  him 
to  fix  a  day  to  visit  them  ;  young  ladies,  lily-like  in 
their  pretty  dresses,  besieged  him  with  dainties  till  he 
cried  mercy.  He  was  rescued  by  Leroy,  who  brought 
up  the  clergyman. 

"  You'll  drive  home  with  him,  Stringfield,"  said 
Leroy  ;  "  for  the  present  know  this — Wentworth  is 
my  friend  and  I  am  his." 

"  Then  I'm  his  friend  too,"  said  the  preacher. 

"  And  I  am  yours,"  answered  Wentworth,  warnily. 

The  clergyman  hastened  to  his  vestry  ;  the  bell 
sounded,  and  the  pic-nic  resolved  itself  to  a  congrega- 
tion again.  The  subject  of  the  sermon  was  "  The  Day 
of  Small  Things."  Wentworth's  attention  did  not 
wander  again,  and  he  heard  counsels  that  helped  him 
to  recognize  the  days  that  were  surprising  him  with 
rich  experiences. 

Wentworth  had  brought  Bertha  in  his  buggy,  but  it 
was  arranged  that  he  should  return  with  the  clergy- 
man. While  he  waited  many  of  the  flock  gathered 
round  their  pastor,  and  after  he  had  started  a  gentle 
lady  stood  in  the  way  to  say  that  she  must  tell  him 
how  he  had  helped  her  that  day.  Farther  on  another 
stopped  him  to  say,  "  Never  before  have  I  heard  such 
sweet  thoughts  from  human  lips."  And  far  in  the 
woods  they  were  again  waylaid. 

"  May  I  speak  a  word  ?  "  said  a  young  man,  advanc- 
ing timidly.  "I  am  from  North  Carolina,  a  stranger 
in  this  country,  where  I  have  come  to  live,  but  have 
no  friends  ;  I  came  to  church  lonely  and  sick,  but  now 
I  am  well  and  happy." 


A    SUNDAY  PIC-NIC.  135 

"  That  makes  me  happy,  my  young  friend  ;  give 
me  your  name  and  place,  and  we  will  meet  again." 

He  pressed  the  youth's  hand,  and  they  passed  on — 
the  preacher  remaining  silent  for  a  time. 

"  These  people,'*  he  at  length  said,  rubbing  his  eyes 
with  two  fingers,  "  have  discovered  my  weakness.  I'm 
as  fond  of  being  praised  as  a  child.  I'm  as  tickled  as 
can  be  now  because  they  liked  my  sermons." 

"  If  any  one  did  not  feel  what  you  said  to-day  he 
must  be  a  stock  or  a  stone,"  said  Wentworth,  with  a 
slight  dimness  about  his  eyes  too. 

"  Sometimes  I  come  here  heart-sick  like  that  young 
man  ;  but  these  people  preach  to  me — they  don't  know 
it,  just  a  warm  word  or  look — and  I  go  away  happy. 
What  a  cheap  thing  happiness  is  !  But  one  thing 
brings  me  down  when  I  think  of  it — the  emptiness  of 
that  negro  gallery.  Only  four  coachmen  in  it  this 
morning.  The  negroes  will  not  come  to  either  of  my 
two  churches,  yet  no  people  in  the  world  are  such 
church  goers.  They  would  live  in  meeting-houses  if 
they  hadn't  to  work.  It  isn't  a  question  of  race  ;  they 
crowd  to  white  Baptist  and  Methodist  preachers.  How 
do  you  account  for  that  ?  I've  tried  all  my  bunch  of 
keys  on  that  problem.  Do  you  happen  to  have  a  key 
about  you  ? " 

"  If  you  had  asked  me  last  year  I  could  have  offered 
keys  warranted  to  unlock  all  questions  concerning 
negroes." 

"  And  where  were  you  last  year  ?  " 

"  At  Harvard  university." 

"  Ah,  you  found  omniscience  easy  there  ?  But  you 
are  a  southerner?  No?  I  knew  you  were  not  a 


136  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Carolinian,  but  thought  you  might  be  from  the 
South-West." 

"  I  was  born  in  Boston,  and  such  keys  as  I  have  to 
southern  problems  were  manufactured  there.'* 

"  Out  with  them  !  Here  we  are  amid  the  brave 
pines,  man  to  man  :  is  thy  heart  right  with  my  heart, 
son  of  Rechab,  then  your  hand  ;  our  buggy  shall  be  a 
chariot  of  truth.  Now  tell  me,  in  a  word,  what  you 
.  think  of  us  southerners,  our  institutions,  laws,  climate, 
negroes,  geology,  botany — but  forgive  my  frivolity  ! 
I  declare  to  you,  after  I  have  just  got  over  the 
strain  of  preaching  what  must  affect  people  for 
good  or  ill,  I'm  unfit  for  serious  society.  Not  a 
grave  thought  in  my  brain,  but  only  a  buzz  of  con- 
ceits." 

"  Well,  out  with  them  !  Those  ground-squirrels  are 
in  keeping  with  these  Gothic  pines." 

"  Leroy  knew  what  he  was  about  when  he  confided 
me  to  you.  And  you,  a  Boston  man,  are  friend  of  that 
prince  of  planters  !  Where  did  you  know  him  ?  He 
was  never  north  in  his  life  ;  he  and  I  were  at  the 
University  of  Virginia  together.  A  unique  man  !  The 
old  Frenchman  who  sowed  that  seed  in  South  Caro- 
lina will  never  die  so  long  as  Laurens  Leroy  lives.  I 
don't  know  what  the  Merriwether  mixture  may  do  for 
his  children.  His  wife  was  Margaret  Merriwether. 
He  met  her  at  Charlottesville.  Leroy  had  too  much 
heart  to  keep  the  faith  of  his  Huguenot  fathers,  but 
I  can't  make  him  an  Episcopalian  either  :  he  worships 
the  sun — Soli  Invicto,  you  know — which  shines  alike 
on  good  and  evil " 

"  — Southerners  and  Yankees — " 


A    SUNDA  Y  PIC-NIC.  137 

"  Exactly.  Now  we're  not  all  up  to  that — or  down 
to  that  :  which  should  it  be,  Mr. —  ?  " 

"  Wentworth.  I  think  it  should  be  *  up/  Mr. 
Stringfield,  when  we're  talking  of  Leroy." 

"  I  sometimes  think  a  little  more  divine  wrath  were 
better  for  him." 

"  The  wrath  of  the  Lamb,  perhaps." 

"  Good  !  he  has  that  ;  baseness  hides  from  his 
gentleness.  Ah,  *  wrath  of  the  Lamb,' — thank  you 
for  my  next  text  ;  I  hope  you're  used  to  having  your 
pocket  picked  ;  my  fingers  are  providentially  contrived 
for  that  industry." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  taking  stolen  goods." 

"  No  matter  ;  honor  among  thieves  ought  to  oblige, 
but  doesn't  always.  Now  let  us  go  back  to  that  empty 
negro-galiery.  That  conspicuously  absent  colored 
man  is  my  Mordecai  at  the  gate, — only  I  don't  want 
him  to  kneel  to  me,  but  with  me." 

"  You  spoke  just  now  of  the  strain  of  sermons  that 
must  affect  human  beings  for  good  or  ill.  Your 
sermons  to-day  assumed  in  your  hearers  freedom, — 
power  to  be  providential  to  others,  active  or  indolent, 
unselfish  or  self-indulgent.  Is  that  applicable  to  people 
whose  moral  responsibilities  are  on  the  shoulders  of 
others  ?  Grant,  as  you  said,  that  the  slave's  lot  is  not 
deplorable,  one  would  say  it  must  modify  the  moral 
conditions  of  his  nature.  Whether  it  be  so,  you  can 
say  better  than  I." 

"  No,  I  can  not  ;  one  can't  read  a  page  too  close  to 
the  eye  any  better  than  one  too  far.  But  what  is 
slavery  ?  The  subjection  of  one  will  to  another.  The 
home  and  society  are  impossible  without  that,  The 


138  PINE  AXD  PALM. 

principle  is  only  extended  when  this  particular  subject 
is  disabled  from  choosing  his  master." 

"  But  that  added  thing  may  make  a  vast  difference  ; 
as  a  half-ounce  of  bone  more  or  less  in  a  bird's  wing 
may  bind  it  to  earth  or  bear  it  aloft." 

"  Sometimes  our  freedom  appears  to  me  over-rated  : 
life  is  so  complex,  we  are  so  ignorant,  so  laden  with 
inherited  tendencies, — might  we  not  be  happier  if  half 
the  problems  were  decided  for  us  and  our  paths 
determined  ?  " 

"  However  better,  it  would  cost  us  the  comprehen- 
sion of  such  sermons  as  yours.  St.  Anthony  warning 
the  fishes  against  snares  of  the  fowler  were  weak 
beside  a  Baptist  pointing  them  to  a  pool  secure  from 
the  net,  whence  they  pass  to  become  gold-fishes  in  a 
sea  of  glory." 

"  Therefore  Haswell  succeeds  with  colored  folk  and 
I  don't.  Have  you  heard  Haswell  ? " 

u  Yes.  His  whole  Bible  was  the  book  of  Revelations, 
while  yours  includes  the  sermon  on  the  Mount." 

"  Well,  I  have  put  my  question  and  got  my  answer. 
You  must  be  aware  that  our  answer  to  northern 
argument  exudes  from  these  pines,  that  our  corollaries 
are  supplied  by  our  feathered  fauna.  But  you  may  be 
astonished  to  hear  that  I  am  eccentric  enough  to 
thank  you  for  your  thoughts,  which  I  will  ponder. 
You  will  increase  my  gratitude  if  you  give  me  your 
opinion  on  this  question  :  how  can  a  parson,  who  can 
not  preach  to  these  negroes,  yet  benefit  them  ? " 

"  Mr.  Stringfield  I  have  been  talking  too  much,  I 
meant  to  sit  at  your  feet,  and  have  been  garrulous." 

"  You  have  said  too  little  :  you  will  have  to  say 


A   SUNDAY  PIC-WC.  139 

more.     I  let  you  off  now,  for  here's  the  house — but 

not  for  long.    I'm  a  horse-leech  ;  also  the  garrulousest 

man  you  ever  saw — 

"  Well,  Eva,  how  goes  it,  dear  ?  and  there's  Lily  of 

the  Valley  too, — mind   the  wheels,  sweetheart.     Ah, 

Lotty,  aren't  you  a  little  pale  ?     I  get  kisses,  you  see, 

comrade." 

"  Oh  !  punning  to  Mr.  Wentworth  already  ! " 

"  Let  me  recommend  you  to  be  a  venerable  parson, 

Mr.    Wentworth ;  it's    sometimes   better   than    this ; 

Fanny  and  Bertha  are  shy  and  only  give  me  one-and 

a-half  apiece — before  company." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A    SUCCESSFUL    CONSPIRACY. 

^TT7ELL,  Wentworth,  how  do  you  like  our  par- 
VV  son?" 

"  Like  !  I  love  him." 

"  Hallelujah  !  " 

"But,  my  dear  Leroy,  why  didn't  you  hint  what 
I  was  to  hear  ?  " 

"  Impossible ;  there's  no  predicting  Stringfield, 
except  that  he'll  always  be  strong  ;  he  spreads  him- 
self like  a  green  bay  tree  one  month,  but  it  can  not 
be  found  the  next — in  place  of  it  a  palm,  or  maybe 
a  sweet-brier.  What  was  he  to-day  ?  " 

"  Several  things — now  I  heard  the  Pastorale,  and 
now  the  house  was  filled  with  the  sweet  perfume." 

"  That  man  declines  calls  to  cities  ;  he  might  be  a 
bishop  ;  he  sticks  by  his  two  country  congregations 
— Wharton  and  St.  Marks,  he  calls  them  his  Rachel 
and  Leah — and  when  we  tell  him  to  marry,  says  he 
has  two  wives  already." 

"  Which  is  which  ?  " 

"  He  says  he  can't  tell  till  the  morning  comes. 
In  fact,  I  didn't  dare  to  talk  to  you  about  String- 
field.  I  love  him  so  much  that  my  estimate  can't  be 
trusted.  I  thought  he'd  come  out  for  a  smoke  after 
supper,  but  I  suppose  they  are  making  him  take  a 
rest." 


A   SUCCESSFUL   CONSPIRACY.  141 

The  truth  was,  Charlotte  had  spirited  away  her 
brother  to  her  own  room,  brazening  out  charges  of 
being  "  too  mean  for  any  thing,"  had  closed  her  door 
solemnly,  and  sentenced  him  to  imprisonment  for  one 
hour. 

"  They  may  gnash  their  teeth  down  stairs,  but  here 
you've  got  to  stay^brother  Phayr,  unless  you  want  to 
see  your  sister  explode  with  what  she's  got  to  say. 
Better  take  an  easier  chair,  and  here's  your  cigar — it 
will  keep  your  mouth  shut  while  you  listen.  There  ! 
Do  you  feel  like  the  Grand  Turk  ?  You'd  better  !  " 

"  I — I — yam,  I  mean  I  do." 

"  Well,  yawn  now,  for  you  won't  afterwards.  Lis- 
ten !  This  Mr.  Wentworth  is  a  man  — " 

"  Thought  as  much." 

"  You  need  boxing.  Well,  you  never  saw  such  a 
man  in  your  life." 

"  I  must  defend  truth — I've  driven  ten  miles  with 
such  a  man.  A  powerful  intellect,  polished  till  it 
shines." 

"  Fifteen  minutes  taken  from  your  captivity  by  that 
knowledge.  A  man  of  that  kind  doesn't  come  into  a 
little  neighborhood  like  this  without  being  felt.  He's 
been  working  miracles  without  knowing  it.  You 
needn't  smile  ;  I'm  not  in  love." 

Charlotte  then  told  the  story  of  Wentworth's  twelve 
days  on  the  island,  ending  with  the  sad  words — "  and 
he  declares  he  must  leave  Tuesday." 

"  Well  ? " 

"  He  must  not !  " 

"  And  you're  not  in  love  !  " 

"  No  ;  I'm  the  exception.     But  I'm  in  love  with  my 


142  PINE  AND  PALM. 

school,  and  he  has  opened  a  new  path  there  ;  he  must 
see  us  fairly  on  it  before  he  goes.  That  for  one  thing. 
Brother  Phayr,  in  all  history  never  but  one  man  came 
to  Leroy  Island  for  a  high  human  purpose,  except 
you  ;  are  we  to  let  him  slip  in  this  way  ?  " 

"  Is  it  reasonable  to  expect  a  scholar  like  that  to 
bury  himself  on  this  island  ?  " 

"  What  else  does  my  brother  do  ?  Now  I  have 
extorted  from  Mr.  Wentworth,  under  promise  that  the 
Leroys  shall  not  know  it  (mark  !),  that  he  would 
rather  remain  longer  but  can  not  trespass  on  their 
hospitality — and  they,  every  one,  longing  for  htm  to 
stay  !  " 

"  That  alters  the  case  without  making  it  more  hope- 
ful. People  of  fine  instinct  will  not  easily  perceive 
the  generosity  of  accepting  much  generosity  ;  in  that 
they  are  right  ninety-nine  times  in  a  hundred/* 

"  This  is  the  hundredth.  Brother  Phayr,  you  see 
through  the  whole  thing  ;  it  will  certainly  be  better 
for  him  and  us  to  keep  him  longer,  and  you  must 
help." 

Mr.  Stringfield  smoked  in  silence  for  a  few 
moments,  then  broke  into  a  laugh. 

"  It  is  so  funny,  Lotty,  for  us  to  be  contriving  how 
to  catch  a  hare  that  wants  to  be  caught,  but  enters 
neither  snare  nor  gum." 

"  He  goes  to  my  school  to-morrow  ;  it  must  be  his 
gum." 

"  You'll  find  yourself  mistaken  ;  there  are  schools 
in  Boston  too.  That  man's  soul  is  stirred  by  the  pro- 
foundest  problems  of  his  time.  These  charming  talks 
with  your  children  are  as  easy  to  him  as  for  me  to 


A    SUCCESSFUL    CONSPIRACY.  143 

smoke  this — where  did  you  steal  it,  Lotty  ?  If  he 
stays  it  will  be  for  severer  work  than  that." 

"  I  have  felt  that  too  ;  but  thought  that  if  my 
school,  the  girls'  plans  for  excursions,  Mr.  Leroy's 
friendship,  Margaret's — well  she's  downright  in  love 
with  him — were  all  twisted  together  — " 

"  I  think  not ;  he  will  go  with  a  heavy  heart,  but  he 
will  go,  unless  you  can  add  another  strand  to  your 
rope." 

"  That  must  be  you  !  put  your  arms  around  him 
tight  !  " 

"  The  arms  must  be  stronger  than  mine." 

"You  have  something  in  your  mind  :  do  you  mean 
a  love  affair  ?  " 

"  No,  Lotty  ;  the  new  strand  must  be  black.  If  this 
man  remains  it  will  be  for  the  sake  of  the  negroes." 

"  Heavens  !  " 

"  I  can't  tell  you  all  I  think  now.  Mr.  Wentworth 
is  a  new  kind  of  man,  a  mind  bred  by  an  era  ;  his 
presence  here  means  more  than  he  realizes.  He  is  no 
vulgar  abolitionist,  but  his  "interest  in  the  slave  has 
brought  him  here,  and  he  has  a  new  interest  in  the 
master." 

"  What  a  fool  I  was  not  to  see  that  ! ' 

u  I  will  think  it  over,  and  do  my  best.  And  now, 
haven't  I  a  right  to  be  jealous  ?  You  haven't  asked  a 
word  about  poor  me,  and  I  with  splendid  news  to  tell. 
No  !  it's  too  late — I  bury  it  in  this  solitary  breast  for- 
ever. Leave  your  Phayr  and  go  to  your  What's-his- 
name  !  " 

"  You  bushy-headed,  stony-hearted  brother,  if  you 
don't  tell  me,  I  die  instantly  at  your  feet." 


144  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  Stop  !  my  feet  are  not  at  my  neck — you're  chok- 
ing me  !  Well,  I've  got  lease  of  Selwood." 

"•At  last,  at  last !  "  cried  Charlotte,  moved  to  tears. 
"  Now  we  shall  part  no  more.  Oh  my  brother,  why 
did  you  not  tell  me  before  !  Oh  the  joy  of  it !  Do 
they  know  it  down  stairs  ?  " 

"  No,  I  kept  the  secret  for  you.  Scott  got  Ravenel 
over  last  night  and  he  unexpectedly  agreed  to  my 
terms." 

In  another  moment  Charlotte  rushed  out  to  publish 
the  tidings, — joyful  indeed,  for  Selwood  was  a  cottage 
near  by  which  they  had  been  long  trying  to  secure  for 
Mr.  Stringfiekl.  Although  the  clergyman's  residence 
in  the  neighborhood  would  involve  Charlotte's  with- 
drawal from  their  abode,  the  Leroys  knew  that  his 
coming  was  the  only  security  for  her  remaining  long. 
She  would  still  be  their  near  neighbor,  and  her  brother 
also.  The  event  was  thus  of  immense  importance  to 
them,  and  Leroy  insisted  on  bumpers  of  champagne 
to  the  new  master  and  mistress  of  Selwood. 

Afterward  Mr.  Stringfield  drew  Leroy  away  for  a 
stroll  in  the  moonlight.  Leroy  having  spoken  with 
warmth  of  Wentworth,  the  clergyman  told  him  about 
their  conversation  on  the  way  from  church. 

"  It's  really  too  bad  to  have  him  go  away  ;  we've 
tried  to  keep  him  in  vain,"  said  Leroy. 

"  Have  you  had  much  talk  with  him  about  the  con- 
dition and  prospects  of  the  negroes  ?  " 

"  Not  enough  ;  he  has  asked  questions  and  I  have 
answered  freely." 

"  Tell  me  some  of  his  questions." 

"  He  asked  about  their  chief  faults  and  offenses, 


A    SUCCESSFUL   CONSPIRACY.  145 

our  methods  of  punishment ;  he  asked  about  their 
amusements,  and  was  disappointed  not  to  find  banjos 
and  breakdowns  in  full  blast.'* 

"  I  don't  wonder  at  his  disappointment.  Well,  as 
you  all  want  him  to  stay  I  must  do  my  best  to  help 
you  ;  but  you  must  give  me  carte  blanche  and  agree 
beforehand  to  all  I  engage." 

"  With  all  my  heart." 

Next  morning,  according  to  promise,  Wentworth 
accompanied  Charlotte  to  her  school,  prepared  to  give 
the  children  a  farewell  talk.  It  had  been  his  intention, 
as  we  know,  to  speak  of  kindness  to  servants,  but 
after  Mr.  Stringfield's  words  on  the  subject,  in  his 
sermon,  he  resolved  to  be  silent  on  that  delicate  mat- 
ter, and  suggest  to  the  teacher  a  talk  from  her  brother 
with  the  children  about  it.  So  Wentworth  selected 
"  Fun  "  for  his  topic.  While  he  was  cross-examining 
the  boys  about  their  sports,  Mr.  Stringfield  entered 
and  took  his  seat  with  the  pupils.  Wentworth  flushed 
a  little  but  went  on  to  make  clear  the  distinction 
between  horseplay  and  fun  ;  chalked  on  the  board  a 
bully  in  knickerbockers  teasing  a  sensitive  child  ;  and 
told  them  that  as  their  sports  trained  their  sinews  and 
senses  for  the  serious  activities  of  after  life,  so  their 
dispositions  were  largely  formed  in  the  play-ground. 
Charlotte  and  her  brother  were  now  and  then  appealed 
to  and  made  to  answer  questions,  and  there  was  a 
rapid  growth  of  freedom  and  confidence  on  the  part 
of  the  children  in  their  replies. 

When  Wentworth,  in  a  few  simple  words,  expressed 
the  happiness  he  had  enjoyed  in  the  days  passed  with 
them?  and  bade  them  farewell,  the  children's  cvc  - 


146  PINE  AND  PALM. 

began  to  swim.  Mr.  Stringfield  restored  their  smiles 
by  holding  up  his  hand,  with  "  Please,  sir,  may  I 
speak  ?  "  He  then  spoke  a  few  words  of  gratitude  to 
the  teacher  who  had  taken  his  sister's  place,  carried  a 
vote  of  thanks  from  every  little  hand,  and  proposed  a 
holiday,  to  be  improved  by  all  walking  over  to  Sel- 
wood  where,  he  was  glad  to  inform  them,  he  and  his 
sister  were  coming  to  reside. 

When  two  cultured  intellects,  representing  the  sub-,, 
tie  spirits  of  widely  different  societies,  are  brought 
into  affectionate  contact,  the  result  sometimes  sur- 
passes the  surprises  of  chemistry.  While  this  Har- 
vard man  was  talking  to  the  children  about  "  fun," 
showing  the  large  relationships  of  sport  and  amuse- 
ment, spiritualizing  them,  certain  vague  feelings  in 
the  clergyman  crystallized  to  a  purpose.  On  the  way 
to  Selwood  he  managed  to  get  Wentworth  to  lag  with 
him  behind  the  others. 

"You  said  good  things,  Mr.  Wentworth,  of  the 
serious  advantages  of  amusement  for  children,  but 
what  of  our  negroes, — these  grown-up  children  who 
have  no  amusement  at  all  ?" 

"  That  is  the  saddest  thing  I  have  found  in  the 
South.  When  poverty  and  toil  become  conscious, 
that  is  the  curse  ;  when  laughter  dies,  then  terrors  are 
in  the  way." 

"  I  can  not  express  how  fully  I  agree  with  you.  A 
morbid  religiosity  has  overspread  these  plantations 
like  dry-rot,  blighting  all  beauty  for  these  Africans. 
For  them  no  flower  blooms,  no  bird  sings.  Do  you 
remember  my  question  yesterday  which  you  did  not 
answer?  No?  I  asked  how  you  thought  a  clergy- 


A    SUCCESSFUL  CONSPIRACY.  147 

man  they  would  not  hear  might  yet  benefit  these 
colored  people." 

"  I  remember  the  question,  but  I  can  not  answer  it." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  this  ? — suppose  such  a 
clergyman  should  make  a  sustained  effort  to  recall 
human  gladness  to  their  hearts,  to  surround  them 
with  some  kind  of  beauty,  to  beguile  them  from  care  by 
some  little  amusement  ? " 

"  How  strange  that  you  should  say  this  !  I  thought 
of  talking  to  the  children  to-day  about  kindness  to 
servants,  but  some  words  of  yours  in  your  sermon 
determined  me  to  bequeathe  that  to  one  from  whom 
it  would  come  with  a  better  grace.  Kindness  to  them 
would,  with  me,  mean  too  much, — for  instance,  teach- 
ing them  to  read,  which  is  illegal." 

"  There  were  centuries  during  which  the  masses 
could  not  read,  and  yet  the  Church  taught  them  many 
beautiful  histories  and  truths  ;  it  was  by  means  of 
music,  images,  pictures,  legends,  symbols " 

"  Plays." 

"  And  plays,  acted  in  the  churches  by  priests.  It 
occurs  to  me  that  our  colored  masses,  forbidden  to 
learn  letters  lest  they  should  read  controversies  about 
themselves  and  conspire,  appear  much  in  the  position 
of  the  Europeans  before  printing  was  discovered. 
Yet  those  people  were  reached  by  the  Arts,  had  a  fair 
culture,  and  their  serfdom  was  softened." 

"  You  amaze  me.  Do  you  really  think  any  thing 
of  that  kind  can  be  done  in  the  South  ?  Would  not 
the  same  influences  that  banished  the  banjo  resist  all 
amusement  ? " 

"  Possibly  ;  but  sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  puritan- 


148  PINE  AND  PALM. 

ism  thereof.  One  needn't  cross  a  shaky  bridge  till  he 
comes  to  it.  I  believe  that  if  these  laborers  could  be 
amused  with  pictures,  poetry,  music,  for  a  few  hours 
a  week,  their  lot  would  be  better  than  in  the  banjo- 
and-breakdown  days  ;  and  not  so  bad  a  lot  on  a 
plantation  like  this,  where  they  are  kindly  treated, 
never  parted  from  their  families,  and  need  not  be 
more  anxious  about  to-morrow  than  the  lilies." 

"  A  few  days  ago,  after  sitting  in  their  dismal 
meeting-house,  and  hearing  from  Leroy  that  they 
dreaded  decoration,  also  that  they  had  no  amusements, 
some  such  thought  as  yours  rose  in  me  like  a  dream, 
and  flitted  away.  What  miracles,  I  thought,  could 
a  little  paint,  a  little  illusion,  work  for  these  children, 
for  whom  gilt  were  the  same  as  gold.  Say  it  were  a 
theater,  introducing  them  into  elegant  society,  beguil- 
ing them  with  some  romance  from  their  small  round 
of  cares  and  the  inner  chains.  Do  you  mean  to  treat 
this  dream  seriously  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  we  should  try  to  do  a  small  thing,  if 
we  can't  do  more.  Consider  this  island.  Here  is  a 
planter  with  a  thousand  slaves,  children  included,  for 
whose  welfare  he  will  do  all  he  can.  Here  are  so 
many  starving  souls  whose  bejeweled  heaven  with 
eternal  concert  proves  their  craving  for  the  beauty 
unknown  to  them  on  earth.  We  have  a  company  of 
fairly  educated  people  with  talent,  taste,  benevolence. 
There  are  ladies  who  can  sing  and  recite,  lads 
too ;  and  there  is  one  woman  who  is  a  born 
mimic  and  actress — even  my  sister  there.  Here 
is  a  demand,  here  a  supply;  they  are  one  inch 
apart/1 


A    SUCCESSFUL    CONSPIRACY.  149 

"  In  geology  it  takes  a  long  time  to  add  an  inch  to 
a  stratum/' 

"  But  man  may  do  in  a  day  as  much  as  nature  in  a 
thousand  years.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  free  these 
slaves  to-day  :  it  can  not  be  done,  even  if  it  were 
well.  But,  whatever  larger  thing  you  or  I  might  desire, 
or  respectively  work  for  as  ideals,  might  we  not  try  to 
effect  some  smaller  thing  where  we  see  eye  to  eye — 
one  that  might  become  a  large  thing  in  the  end  ? " 

"  A  thousand  times  yes  !  " 

"  Ah,  possibly  a  large  thing — even  probably.  Leroy 
has  taken  you  over  his  plantation, — nay,  he  has  taken 
you  over  Georgia,  Alabama,  Mississippi  ;  should  you 
leave  to-morrow  and  travel  the  coast  you  will  see 
continuous  cotton-fields,  cabins^  negroes  ;  then  you 
would  find  you  had  tried  to  analyze  an  ocean  to  obtain 
elements  which  Jordan  creek  can  give  you  just  as 
well.  But  could  you  only  be  content  to  stay  and  help 
us  with  some  humane  experiments,  and  we  should 
succeed,  what  is  to  prevent  our  success  spreading  like 
a  fire  over  regions  where  the  stubble  is  the  same  ? " 

u  My  fellow-dreamer,  I  swear  I  will  not  go  !  I  will 
live  in  a  cabin,  I  will  be  slave  of  your  lamp,  will  do 
any  thing  to  follow  such  an  aim,  even  if  it  fail." 

"  Well,  now  let  us  overtake  that  party  ;  they  are 
casting  evil  eyes  on  me  for  keeping  you  to  myself." 

When  Charlotte  and  the  children  were  overtaken 
they  were  already  waiting  in  the  veranda  of  Seiwood, 
not  having  brought  the  key.  Fortunately  Leroy  came 
with  it ;  but  before  he  had  unlocked  the  door  Went- 
worth,  glowing  with  enthusiasm,  spoke  to  him. 

"  Leroy,  I  have  a  great  favor  to-ask." 


150  PINE  AND  PALM. 

11  It  is  granted." 

"  It  is  that  you  will  make  some  arrangement  by 
which  I  may  remain  longer,  perhaps  even  till  after 
Christmas." 

"  Wentworth,  what  is  this  ?  you  ask  a  favor  and  then 
grant  me  one.  Charlotte,  Stringfield,  come  here  ! 
what  spells  have  you  cast  on  this  man — he  says  he 
will  not  leave  us  !  " 

"  But  this  is  too  good  to  be  true  ! "  cried  Charlotte  ; 
"  Mr.  Wentworth,  have  you  really  said  so." 

"  I  have  ;  but  I  must  be  employed  somehow.  I 
must  make  believe  to  earn  my  bread  and  butter.  May 
I  lecture  to  the  children  now  and  then  ? " 

"  I  engage,"  said  Leroy,  "  to  make  you  admit  I  am 
m  your  debt  before  the  year  is  out," 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

TAMING     A     TIGER. 

fact  that  the  Leroys  had  a  guest  from  Boston, 
1  — handsome,  scholarly,  apparently  rich, — became 
well  known  in  the  island  after  the  Sunday  at  Wharton. 
It  caused  some  sensation  in  every  household,  but  in 
one  breast  excited  emotions  of  a  painful  kind.  Robert 
Ravenel,  a  rejected  but  desperately  hopeful  lover  of 
Bertha  Leroy,  had  seen  the  new-comer  driving  her 
in  his  buggy  toward  Wharton  Church.  In  connection 
with  the  fame  of  Wentworth's  accomplishments  the 
sight  had  suggested  a  dreaded  theory,  afterwards  to 
be  branded  on  his  heart  as  fearful  fact :  this  Yankee 
manufacturer  was  after  one  of  the  rich  planter's 
daughters.  But  which  ?  A  funereal  thump  in 
Robert's  breast  gave  answer.  There  was  but 
one  lady  on  earth  to  whom  all  must  aspire.  Such 
was  Robert's  bad  case  after  he  had  seen  them  on 
their  way  to  church — himself  unperceived — and  he 
was  filled  with  longing  to  plead  with  Bertha  once 
more.  This  desire  of  his  had  done  her  friends  a  ser- 
vice :  it  was  he  who  had  persuaded  his  father  to  let 
Selwood  to  the  parson,  knowing  well  what  pleasure 
that  would  give  the  Leroys. 

The  Ravenels  were  a  Huguenot  family  whose  heads, 
for  a  hundred    and  fifty   years,    had    kept   vendetta 


152  PINE  AND  PALM. 

against  the  church  which  had  persecuted  their  ances- 
tors. The  sins  of  the  Carolinian  English  Church  had 
been  steadily  visited  on  its  Episcopal  successor  in  the 
fifth  generation  by  this  one  branch  of  the  Ravenels. 
There  being  no  Presbyterian  Church  on  Leroy  Island, 
a  room  at  Rochelle,  their  family  seat,  witnessed  weekly 
assemblages  of  the  household  for  scriptural  readings, 
some  old  divine  supplying  the  sermon.  St.  Jean 
Ravenel,  presiding  magistrate  of  his  county,  was  not 
a  hard  man  apart  from  his  attitude  toward  the  church 
of  the  other  gentry.  He  lived  in  the  fashion  of  his 
fathers,  grand  without  gaiety,  read  Latin,  French  and 
English  classics,  and  was  a  generous  patriarch  to  his 
sons  and  daughters.  He  could  not  quite  forgive 
Leroy — whose  grandmother  was  a  Ravenel — for  not 
supporting  his  pet  feud  against  the  Episcopal  Church, 
and  might  have  frowned  on  Robert's  suit  had  he 
known  of  it.  These  feelings  had  prejudiced  him 
against  the  clergyman,  whom  he  never  saw,  and  hard- 
ened him  in  the  matter  of  Selwood.  Mr.  Stringfield 
might  have  succeeded  better,  perhaps,  had  he 
approached  St.  Jean  personally,  but  he  had  been  repre- 
sented by  Leroy,  whose  appearance  reminded  the  old 
gentleman  of  his  duty  to  Huguenot  shades.  He 
raised  difficulties  about  the  house,  and  did  not  con- 
ceal the  fact  that  he  did  not  want  the  parson  in  the 
neighborhood. 

After  Selwood  had  remained  without  tenant  for  a 
year,  Mr.  Scott  took  the  matter  in  hand  again.  Rob- 
ert was  seated  with  his  father  in  the  Rochelle  veranda 
when  Scott's  messenger  came  with  the  note.  The  ok} 
gentleman  read  it  with  vexation , 


TAMING  A    TIGER.  I  S3 

"  Tell  your  master,  with  my  compliments,  that  I 
can  not  come,"  he  said,  putting  the  note  in  his  pocket. 

"  What  is  it,  father? "  asked  Robert,  when  the  mes- 
senger had  gone. 

"  They  are  worrying  me  again  about  Selwood.  It 
is  Scott  now  ;  he  wants  me  to  meet  Stringfield  at  his 
house  and  talk  it  over.  I  have  talked  it  over  ;  it's 
settled." 

A  cloud  came  over  Robert's  face,  but  he  said  noth- 
ing. He  began  thinking  of  the  pleasure  it  would  give 
Bertha  and  those  around  her  if  his  father  were  more 
friendly  in  this  thing.  He  felt  that  he  and  his  sisters 
were  in  some  way  isolated,  and  it  might  even  be  that 
Bertha  left  him  without  hope  because  of  the  separate 
traditions  of  their  family.  They  never  attended  balls, 
because  of  their  hereditary  Calvinism,  and  never  went 
to  church  because  its  colonial  predecessor  persecuted 
Huguenots.  After  long  silence,  Robert,  rendered 
desperate  by  rumors  of  Wentworth's  honors  in  the 
Leroy  family,  ventured  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  to 
oppose  his  father. 

"  Father,  doesn't  it  seem  rather  useless  to  keep  Sel- 
wood closed  all  this  time  ? " 

"  If  I  choose  it  so,  I  can't  see  that  it  concerns  you, 
sir  !  " 

"  Oh,  of  course  not.  I  was  only  thinking — that  is 
j » 

"Well,  sir,  let's  have  your  valuable  thoughts." 
"You  shall  have  them,  father,"  said  Robert,  with  a 
look   that    startled   the   old    gentleman.      "It    con- 
cerns me — it  concerns  my   sisters — that   we  should 
have  the  reputation  of  being  unfriendly  to  our  neigh- 


154      •  PINE  AND  PALM. 

bors,  and  never  mix  with  them,  and  not  oblige  them 
in  a  thing  like  this.  You  have  my  thoughts,  father, 
valuable  or  not,  as  you  please." 

The  particulars  of  the  storm  that  followed  Robert's 
outbreak  need  not  be  given.  St.  Jean  was  at  first 
aghast,  then  accused  his  son  of  ingratitude,  their 
voices  at  length  becoming  so  loud  that  Eleanor,  the 
eldest  daughter,  hastened  to  the  verandah.  She 
caught  her  father's  arm  as  he  stood,  trembling  with 
anger,  pointing  Robert  away  from  the  house. 
"  Go,  sir,  go  ! " 

"  Father,  what  is  all  this  ?  "  cried  Eleanor. 
"  That  ungrateful  boy  has  insulted  me  in  my  own 
house ! " 

"  I  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing,"  said  Robert 
with  quivering  voice,  "  I  would  get  on  my  knees  to 
you  rather  than  insult  you." 

"  You  have  done  so,  sir  !  "  cried  St.  Jean,  disap- 
pearing into  the  house. 

Robert  had  a  faithful  confederate  in  Eleanor,  a  year 
older  than  himself,  and  told  her  all  that  had  occurred, 
and  the  motives  that  had  impelled  him  to  speak  out. 
"  You  are  in  the  right,"  said  Eleanor,  "  but  you 
know  that  obedience  has  been  the  rule  of  this  house 
since  it  was  founded  ;  there  is  only  one  thing  to  be 
done — before  dinner  you  must  find  father  and  ask  his 
pardon,  without  justifying  yourself  in  the  least,  and 
with  a  good  grace." 

Meanwhile,  irate  St.  Jean  had  gone  to  his  wife  with 
an  account  of  what  had  occurred,  and  was  not  satis- 
fied with  her  reception  of  it.  She  wept,  and  would 
not  say  a  word. 


TAMING  A    TIC  En .  155 

He  next  encountered  Eleanor  with  the  story,  but 
she  also  was  silent,  and  to  his  charge  that  his  family 
were  turned  against  him,  tears  were  her  only  reply. 
He  went  off  to  his  office,  at  the  end  of  the  garden, 
and  had  remained  there  nearly  an  hour  when  Robert 
knocked  at  the  door. 

"Father,"  he  said,  "I  have  come  to  ask  your  for- 
giveness. I  am  very  sorry  that  I  worried  you.  I  had 
no  business  to  interfere  in  your  affairs  ;  it  was  entirely 
wrong  of  me,  and  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir." 

"  Well,  my  son,  let  us  say  no  more  about  it.  I  want 
to  be  alone  now — till  dinner." 

There  was,  nevertheless,  some  constraint  and  undue 
silence  at  dinner.  In  the  evening  Eleanor  was  sum- 
moned to  her  father's  office,  though  what  the  subject 
of  their  conversation  was  she  did  not  mention.  But 
next  morning,  as  Robert  was  about  riding  off,  his 
father  called  to  him. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Robert  ?  " 

"  To  Sullivan's  Ford,  sir,"  said  Robert,  bringing 
his  horse  close  to  his  father  ;  "  the  county  nomina- 
tions are  arranged  to-day." 

"  Ah,  I  had  forgotten.  If  you  meet  Scott,  tell  him 
I  shall  come  over  this  evening." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

The  thing  was  done.  Robert's  heart  gave  a  little 
leap  as  he  galloped  off — straight  to  Scott's,  of  course. 
Next  morning  he  was  informed  by  his  father  that 
Selwood  was  let  to  Stringfield. 

"  I  need  your  forgiveness  all  the  more,"  said  Robert 
handsomely,  "  for  nobody  ever  had  a  better  father, 
and  I  hope,  sir,  you  will  never  doubt  my  love  for  you," 


156  PINE  AATD  PALM. 

Robert  hoped  to  be  the  first  to  carry  the  good  news 
to  Leroy  House.  While  the  holiday  company  which 
we  have  already  accompanied  to  Selwood  were  spec- 
ulating about  the  rooms — which  should  be  Charlotte's, 
which  the  study,  and  how  they  should  be  decorated — 
the  eager  lover  was  telling  the  tidings  to  Bertha. 
Although  these  had  partly  preceded  him  she  was 
"  dying  to  hear  all  about  it,"  and  was  so  sweet  and 
affable  that  his  hope  rose  high.  Bertha  inconsider- 
ately ran  on  with  what  they  were  all  so  full  of  ;  it  was 
Mr.  Wentworth  said  this  and  Mr.  Wentworth  did  that ; 
until  presently  her  words  elicited  no  answer,  and  on 
looking  up  she  saw  a  thunder-cloud  in  place  of  the 
hopeful  face  she  had  greeted.  She  was  appalled  and 
began  to  ask  how  all  were  at  home. 

"  Home  !  I  have  no  home.  Every  body  can  have 
a  happy  home  but  me." 

"  Oh,  Robert,  don't  talk  so  ;  you  have  a  home  and 
dear  sisters." 

"  I  am  almost  twenty-four  ;  nearly  every  man  of  my 
age  around  here  is  engaged,  or  married,  and  settled 
down  to  something  ;  but  I  am  a  wanderer  on  the  face 
of  the  earth." 

"  Well,  Robert,  why  don't  you  settle  down  to  do 
something  useful." 

"  What  for  ?  A  man  works  for  love  or  money.  I 
don't  want  money,  and  I've  got  nobody  to  love  me." 

"  That  isn't  true  ;  your  sisters  love  you." 

"  You  know  what  I  mean.     Oh  Bertha  !  " 

She  heard  footsteps  in  the  hall  and  hoped  somebody 
\7ould  enter,  but  they  died  away,  and  she  must  pass 
through  her  ordenl. 


TAMING  A    TIGER.  157 

"I  begin  to  feel,"  said  Robert,  struggling  with  his 
emotion,  "  as  if  some  curse  was  on  me.  Our  family 
somehow  stands  alone.  Father  didn't  mean  to  let  the 
Stringfields  have  that  place,  but  I  tackled  him  on  it — 
the  first  time  in  my  life — and  was  almost  ordered  out 
of  the  house  ;  then  he  gave  up.  I  did  it  because  I 
wanted  to  break  down  the  wall  between  us  and  other 
people." 

"  That  was  grand  of  you,  Robert.  I'm  glad  you 
told  me  that." 

"  Oh,  are  you  glad  ?  I  have  made  you  glad.  Bertha, 
it  was  for  you  I  did  it.  Wall  or  no  wall  is  all  one  to 
to  me  but  for  you  !  Only  try  and  love  me— it's  awful 
to  go  on  as  I've  been  since — since  that  day." 

"  I'm  so  sorry.  Much  as  I  like  you,  Robert,  it's 
impossible  to  change  the  answer  I  gave." 

"  Oh,  my  God  !  " 

Robert  threw  up  his  hands,  as  if  shot.  Then  he 
slowly  arose  and  looked  out  of  the  window,  unfortu- 
nately just  as  the  party  from  Selwood  appeared,  St. 
George  being  now  with  the  children  and  Wentwor^h 
with  Charlotte  behind  them.  The  last  time  Robert 
had  seen  the  Bostonian  he  was  with  Bertha,  and  now 
on  the  instant  he  received  authentic  revelation  that 
this  smiling  gentleman  was  her  accepted  lover. 

"Bertha!"  he  cried,  "tell  me  this — are  you  in 
love  with  somebody  else  ? " 

"  What  a  question  !  " 

"  Answer  me  !  "  he  thundered. 

Anger  answered  anger  :  in  an  instant  Bertha  was 
on  her  feet,  but  not  being  a  lover  under  jealous 
delusion,  she  could  still  be  cool  and  satirical. 


158  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  Please,  master,  don't  whip  me  too  hard,"  she 
whined  out. 

"  I  know  ! "  shouted  the  maniac.  "  It's  that 
damned  Yankee  who  drove  you  to  church." 

"  Oh,  I'm  a  runaway,  am  I  ?  Set  the  dogs  on 
me  " 

"  I'll  kill  him  ! "  shouted  Robert,  on  whom  the 
girl's  sarcasm  was  wasted. 

"  And  now,  please  master,  I'll  go,  or  you  might  kill 
me  too  ;  and  I've  heard  enough  foul  language  for  one 
day." 

She  darted  out  the  door.  Her  words,  "  foul 
language,"  roused  him  to  some  confused  conscious- 
ness of  his  misbehavior,  and  he  felt  that  he  should 
see  her  no  more.  At  such  moments  more  reasonable 
men  sometimes  seek  scapegoats  for  their  sins  ;  but 
Wentworth  had  already  been  selected  to  be  that  of 
Robert,  who  glared  at  him  furiously  as  he  passed  out. 
Every  one  observed  the  glance  except  its  object,  who 
seemed  fey,  as  the  Scotch  say. 

^"Gracious  !"  exclaimed  Charlotte  to  her  brother. 
"  Some  of  Bertha's  work  !  " 

St.  George  hurried  over  to  the  horse-rack,  where 
Robert  was  mounting,  and  offered  his  hand  ;  but  it 
was  not  taken,  and  with  a  few  muttered  words  the 
agitated  youth  dashed  off. 

"  Poor  Bob,"  said  Saint,  when  he  returned  to  Char- 
lotte, "  he's  awfully  cut  up.  I  didn't  like  what  he 
said,  either." 

"  What  was  it  ?  " 

"  '  Damned  Yankee  !     I'll  do  for  him  ! '  " 

"  Don't  repeat  that,  Saint," 


TAMING  A    TIGER.  159 

Charlotte  found  Bertha  upstairs  in  a  swoon,  with 
Fanny  sprinkling  water  in  her  face.  They  soon  got 
her  to  bed,  but  she  became  hysterical,  and  it  was  long 
before  she  was  able  to  tell  what  had  happened.  She 
kept  back  Robert's  brutal  language,  but  confided  to 
Charlotte  and  her  elder  sister  the  delusion  he  was 
under,  and  his  threat  against  Wentworth. 

"  Why  in  the  world  didn't  you  undeceive  him  ?  " 

"  It  was  impossible.  I  can't  tell  you  just  why, 
Lotty.  He  lost  his  head  and  I  couldn't  keep  mine." 

"  You'll  have  to  write  to  him." 

"  Never  !  nor  will  I  ever  speak  to  him." 

Charlotte  laid  her  cheek  to  Bertha's,  and  then  the 
tears  began  to  flow.  Fanny  quietly  left  them 
together. 

"  And  you  can  not  love  him? " 

"  I  am  not  in  love,  Lotty.  I  believe  I'm  a  baby  in 
that  kind  of  thing.  It  all  seems  a  long  way  off.  I'm 
so  happy  with  you  all,  so  wrapped  up  in  what  we're 
all  doing,  that  this  is  like  a  great  trouble  breaking  in. 
Ever  since  spring,  when  Robert  spoke,  I've  been 
trying  to  forget  it — but,  oh,  how  frightened  I  am  ! " 

And  indeed  Bertha's  teeth  chattered.  Charlotte 
tried  to  soothe  her,  but  she  became  feverish,  and  ran 
on  with  mingled  tears  and  laughter . 

"  Oh,  Lotty,  if  you  had  only  seen  him  !  I  felt  like 
a  mouse  before  a  tiger.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  mouse 
marrying  a  tiger  ?  That's  me  marrying  Robert.  His 
eyes  grew  big  as  saucers,  without  the  least  exaggera- 
tion. It's  a  mercy  he  didn't  eat  me." 

Charlotte  gradually  gathered  what  had  occurred, 
and  it  made  her  uneasy.  She  and  the  Leroys  knew 


160  PINE  AND  PALM. 

that  Robert  was  no  mere  vaporer,  and  there  was 
some  consultation  about  his  menaces.  Of  all  this, 
however,  the  individual  most  concerned  knew  nothing, 
but  passed  the  afternoon  writing  letters  for  the  next 
day's  mail— one  to  Stirling,  another  to  Judge  Minott ; 
a  third  was  addressed  to  "  Messrs.  Dolland,  Manufac- 
turers of  Scientific  Instruments,  Boston,  Mass.;"  a 
fourth  was  to  "  Abrahams,  Costumer,  Cornhill, 
Boston." 

The  Selwood  property  included  a  large  building 
for  cotton  storage,  latterly  used  as  a  barn,  and  on  this 
Wentworth  fixed  a  more  adrniring  eye  than  even  upon 
the  pretty  cottage  with  roses  climbing  on  its  verandah. 
The  Barn  was  now  empty,  and,  although  he  heard 
Leroy  already  negotiating  for  its  use,  the  big  build- 
ing presented  possibilities  of  divine  uselessness  to  this 
peculiar  Yankee's  eye  which  prevailed  with  its  new 
owner.  The  Barn  at  once  became  the  scene  of  mys- 
terious labors.  St.  George  was  full  of  resources  in 
handiwork,  and  Wesley  Hampton  had  been  given 
some  training  as  a  mechanic.  Some  planter  of  the 
past  had  happily  made  preparations  for  the  crop  our 
Utopian  sowers  hoped  to  harvest  there,  by  leaving 
plank  enough  for  a  stage. 

One  day  toward  the  close  of  the  week,  work  at  the 
Barn  being  now  well  advanced,  Bertha  walked  over 
there.  It  so  happened  that  Robert  had  just  been  to 
Selwood  to  direct  some  repair,  and  was  riding  past 
the  Barn  when  Bertha  knocked  at  the  door.  She  saw 
him  and  he  saw  her, — he  must  also  have  seen  Went- 
worth admit  her  into  that  long-unused  building,  and 
carefully  close  the  door.  St.  George  was  more  dis- 


TAMING  A    TIGER.  161 

turbed  even  than  herself  when  she  whispered  what 
had  occurred  ;  he  went  out  but  Robert  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen.  Wentworth  was  puzzled  by  their  agita- 
tion, and  when  Bertha  had  gone  managed  to  get  from 
St.  George  the  whole  story  of  Robert's  jealousy  and 
threats. 

"Poor  fellow,"  said  Wentworth,  "he  saw  the 
*  damned  Yankee '  admitting  his  sweet-heart  into  a 
lonely  Barn.  I  wonder  he  didn't  shoot  me  !  " 

"  Tell  truth,  I  wonder  he  didn't ;  he's  equal  to  it." 

"What  sort  of  a  fellow  is  he,  Saint?" 

"  Not  a  bad  fellow  ;  he's  got  a  heart ;  but  he  doesn't 
do  any  thing  but  go  to  political  meetings  and  rave 
about  Southern  Rights." 

"  Has  Bertha  any  thing  particular  against  him  ? " 

"  Think  not.  Bertha's  young,  every  body  pets  her 
at  home,  and  she  never  cared  for  beaux." 

"  Does  this  Mr.  Ravenel  contemplate  any  pro- 
fession ? " 

"  Think  not.  They've  lots  of  money.  He  wanted 
to  be  an  artist  but  his  father  put  his  foot  down  on 
that." 

"  Can  he  paint  ?  " 

"  He  used  to  beat  every  thing  at  drawing ;  he  made 
a  funny  picture  of  every  boy  at  school,  and  one  day 
old  Carter  at  the  Landing  paid  him  ten  dollars  for 
painting  a  sign  for  his  tavern.  I  don't  know  if  he 
paints  now,  but  somebody  told  me  he  made  a  pretty 
picture  of  his  sister  Eleanor  sitting  in  the  verandah." 

"  Where  do  the  Ravenels  live  ?  " 

"  Rochelle — about  five  miles  on  the  high  road.  It's 
a  good  road  for  you  to  keep  away  from  just  now.  In 


162  PINE  AND  PALM. 

fact,  though  I  hate  to  say  it,  there's  danger  in  Bob, 
and  you  must  take  my  pistol  along  when  you  come 
to-morrow.  He's  a  red-hot  southerner,  he's  jealous, 
he  isn't  safe." 

"  Thank  you  for  the  warning.  I'll  think  it  all  over. 
But  I  must  at  once  decline  the  pistol." 

Wentworth  did  think  over  the  situation  very  care- 
fully. The  result  was  that,  in  the  course  of  the  next 
morning,  while  the  work  was  going  on  briskly  in  the 
Barn,  he  slipped  out,  mounted  a  horse  which  Wesley 
brought  up  on  the  moment,  and  rode  swiftly  toward 
Rochelle.  Three  miles  on  the  way  he  met  the  for- 
midable man  himself,  whom  he  could  not  recognize. 
Robert's  horse  was  steaming  ;  he  snorted  when  reined 
up,  and  pawed  the  ground,  as  if  sensible  of  his 
master's  fury. 

"  Mr.  Wentworth,  I  believe,"  said  Robert  with  a 
dark  look. 

"  Yes  ;  and  you  ?  " 

"  Ravenel  is  my  name.  You  are  the  man  I  want  to 
meet." 

"At  your  service,  Mr.  Ravenel." 

"  One  of  us  must  die." 

"  I  hope  not  just  yet." 

"  I  demand  satisfaction, — you  know  for  what." 

"  You  shall  have  satisfaction." 

"  When  you  please,  where  you  please,  how  you 
please  ;  I  stake  my  life  against  yours." 

"  I  would  suggest  as  the  time  six  months  hence  ; 
because " 

"  Because  you  are  a  coward  and  can  sneak  off  to 
your  damned  Yankee  land." 


TAMING  A    TIGER.  163 

"  That's  not  the  only  reason.  I  have  two  or  three 
others  for  not  wishing  to  be  hasty.'* 

"Well,  let's  hear  them,"  said  Robert,  lashing  his 
boot. 

"  First,  I  wish  to  give  you  fair  play.  You  are  nerv- 
ous. You  are  under  the  delusion  that  there  is  some 
kind  of  love  affair  between  Miss  Bertha  and  me. 
That  is  a  mistake.  I  don't  wonder  you  fancy  so,  for 
she  is  a  lovely  young  lady,  but  there  isn't  the  ghost 
of  a  chance  that  we  shall  ever  be  more  than  good 
friends.  You  are  under  the  wilder  delusion  that  she 
and  I  had  a  clandestine  meeting  in  Selwood  Barn, 
and  do  not  know  that  St.  George  and  others  were 
inside." 

Robert  saw  truth  in  the  face  before  him  ;  his  eyes 
fell,  his  head  sank,  a  pallor  of  shame  overspread  his 
face. 

"  These  delusions  so  agitate  you  that  you  couldn't 
shoot  steady.  I  should  have  the  advantage.  If  you 
happen  to  have  a  pistol  will  you  lend  it  me  a 
moment?" 

Robert  drew  out  a  pocket-pistol  and  handed  it 
helplessly.  There  was  a  sharp  report  and  a  sparrow 
lay  dead  some  paces  distant. 

"  I'm  glad  that  isn't  you,"  said  Wentworth,  returning 
the  pistol ;  "  even  a  Yankee  coward  is  not  always 
cowardly  enough  to  shoot  an  enemy  whose  hand  is 
trembling.  No,  sir,  we  must  meet  when  you're 
cooler." 

"  You've  got  me  down,"  gasped  Robert. 

"  There's  another  reason  why  our  duel  should  be 
postponed,"  said  Wentworth,  without  seeming  to  hear 


1 64  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Robert's  words  ;  "  your  help  is  needed  in  an  impor- 
tant matter,  and  I  was  just  coming  to  beg  for  it." 

"  My  help  ! " 

"  Yours.  But  since  you  have  challenged  me  and 
I  have  accepted,  the  Leroys  will  have  to  send  some 
other  messenger.  Good  morning  !  " 

"  Stop,  for  God's  sake  !  You  have  got  me  down 
and  I  deserve  to  be  trampled  on.  Good  God,  what  a 
jackass  I've  been  making  of  myself.  Just  wait  a 
minute." 

Robert  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  brow  ;  it  was  some 
moments  before  he  could  speak. 

"  There's  one  thing  I  ought  to  say,  Mr.  Wentworth. 
You  find  me  with  a  pistol  and  think  I  meant  to — 
to—" 

"  Shoot  me." 

"  I  do  not  often  carry  one,  and  it  was  not  for  you  ; 
more  likely  that  bullet  would  have  gone  into  my  own 
heart." 

"Then,  indeed,  we  are  well  met." 

"  I  have  made  a  fool  of  myself  about  you,  and  I  ask 
your  pardon.  If  you  knew  how  miserable  I  am  you 
might  not  think  so  hard  of  me." 

"  I  can  guess  something  :  I  am  not  your  enemy  ;  I 
would  like  to  be  your  friend  were  that  possible  to  a 
Yankee." 

"  There's  my  hand,  sir.  You're  the  first  northern 
man  I  ever  met,  and  I  could  bite  my  tongue  out  for 
having  insulted  you." 

"  Now  that  we  are  friends,"  said  Wentworth,  after 
shaking  hands,  «  I  will  say  what  I  was  coming  for.  I 
hear  you  know  how  to  paint." 


TAMING  A    TIGER.  165 

"  Daub." 

"  Well,  daub.  Now,  it's  a  secret  at  present,  but  we 
are  getting  up  some  theatricals  in  that  same  Barn — " 

"  Oh  Lord  !  " 

"  And  we  have  every  thing  except  scenery.  We 
don't  need  much — the  inside  of  a  room,  and  a  kind  of 
hall,  to  begin  with." 

"  I  can't  paint  worth  looking  at." 

"  I  feel  sure  you  can  paint  what  we  require.  There's 
plenty  of  canvas.  Fanny  and  Bertha  will  sew  it  for 
you,  and  I'm  certain  you  will  accommodate  the 
ladies." 

"  You  are  the  gentleman  I  wanted  to  kill." 

"  Oh  no,  it  wasn't  you  but  your  ghost  ;  I  saw  it  was 
your  ghost  I  was  meeting  ;  you  never  meant  me  any 
harm." 

"  It's  brave  to  say  so,  but  I  can't  forgive  myself, 
and — and — I'm  ashamed  to  ever  meet  her  again." 

"  Oh,  you'll  soon  make  that  up." 

"  You  don't  know  half.  I've  treated  her  like  a 
brute.  I've  insulted  her  and  cursed  her,  and  accused 
her  of  heinous  crimes,  and  acted  like  a  run-mad  jack- 
ass—" 

"  Come,  now,  I  don't  believe  you.  You're  drawing 
it  too  strong — and  then  jackasses  don't  run  mad. 
The  donkey  is  a  picturesque  animal ;  and  if  you've 
been  a  little  foolish,  why  come  and  be  pictorial  in 
the  Barn." 

"  There's  nothing  I'd  not  try  to  do  for  you  to  atone 
for  my  behavior  ;  but  the  favor's  the  other  way— the 
prospect  of  making  myself  useful  is  the  best  any  one 
can  set  before  me," 


166  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  Good  !  And  now  we're  mounted,  what  say  you 
to  riding  to  the  Barn  for  a  look  at  things." 

The  visit  was  made,  the  dimensions  taken  for  the 
scenery,  and  Robert  promised  to  come  next  day  with 
his  pigments.  In  parting  with  Wentworth  he  said, 
"  If  you  live  a  hundred  years  you'll  never  know  what 
you've  done  for  me  this  day." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

ART      AND      ARTIFICE. 

A  BUSY  month  followed.  Never  since  the  Revo- 
lution had  Leroy  Island  known  so  much  activity 
among  its  white  inhabitants  as  attended  the  sojourn 
of  its  first  northern  visitor.  By  the  last  week  in  No- 
vember much  had  been  accomplished  :  the  String- 
fields  were  housed  at  Selwood,  the  Barn  was  full  of 
benches,  the  performers  were  versed  in  their  parts. 
On  a  day,  two  mysterious  boxes  had  been  brought 
from  the  Landing  for  Wentworth,  curiosity  concerning 
which  threatened  some  of  the  Leroy  household  with 
fever  until  their  contents  could  partly  be  inferred  from 
the  First  Programme.  This,  as  submitted  to  the 
assembled  family  council,  was  as  follows  : 

LEROY  ISLAND   ENTERTAINMENT. 

Part  Song — "  Home,  Sweet  Home," 

Misses  Fannie  and  Bertha  Leroy. 

Recitation — "  Marion's  Men."      .     .     .      Master  Sumter  Leroy. 
Flute  Solo— Scotch  Strathspey,     .     .     .      Mr.  St.  George  Leroy. 
Song — "  The  Four-Leaved  Shamrock,"       Miss  Bertha  Leroy. 
Guitar  Song—"  The  Blue  Juniatta,"     .       Miss  Leroy. 
Magic  Lantern — The  Prodigal  Son, 

Mr.  W.  Wentworth,  exhibitor. 

Recitation — "Crime  and  Remorse,"  Rev.  Phayr  Stringfield,  Miss 
Stringfield,  Mrs.  Leroy,  Mr.  Wentworth. 

"  Crime  and  Remorse  ?  "  said  Charlotte  ;  "  is  that 
better  than  '  Scenes  from  Macbeth '  ?  " 


1 68  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"Leroy  and  I  think  we  had  better  not  hint  any 
thing  theatrical,"  said  Wentworth  ;  "  gentle  Shakes- 
peare will  forgive  us  for  not  mentioning  him  ;  his 
rose  will  smell  as  sweet  by  another  name." 

The  vigil  of  the  first  rehearsal  was  one  of  excite- 
ment. Sumter  sank  to  sleep  with  Marion's  Men 
marching  on  his  lips  ;  Mrs.  Leroy  had  to  warn  her 
daughters  that  they  were  making  sweet  home  sour 
with  their  midnight  singing  ;  and  Charlotte,  who  was 
passing  the  night  there,  heard  a  voice  warning  "  Lotty 
Macbeth  "  that,  if  she  didn't  stop  her  sleep-walking 
and  her  damns,  said  voice  would  be  too  sleepy  to  play 
the  flute  next  night. 

St.  George  had  been  astounded  when,  on  the  day 
after  he  had  warned  Wentworth  against  Robert,  the 
latter  entered  the  Barn.  Saint  sprang  forward  with 
alarm,  and  could  hardly  stammer  an  apology  for  his 
brusqueness  when  he  saw  Wentworth  greeting  his 
enemy.  When  Wentworth  presently  whispered 
explanations  Saint  said  "you're  a  magician."  Robert, 
with  Eleanor's  assistance,  had  prepared  a  large  can- 
vas, and  now  set  to  work,  only  begging  Wentworth 
not  to  let  him  have  to  face  her>  nor  let  any  body  else 
know  he  was  working  at  the  Barn.  Robert  worked 
daily  until  he  had  painted  a  brilliant  palatial  interior. 
Only  when  Wentworth  begged  it  as  a  favor  did  he 
consent  to  be  present  at  the  first  rehearsal. 

None  of  the  Leroy  children  had  ever  seen  a  theater, 
and  no  Parisian  stage  ever  gave  habitue  half  the 
delight  which  filled  these  Arcadians  when  the  curtain 
at  the  Barn  was  drawn  and  the  lamp-lit  scenery 
revealed. 


ART  A  Kb  ARTIFICE.  169 

"  Oh-h-h  !  Isn't  it  just  perfectly  beautiful  !  "  was 
the  first  chorus  heard  in  Selwood  Barn. 

"  Who  could  have  painted  it  !  "  cried  Bertha. 

"  It  came  from  the  north  in  one  of  Those  Boxes," 
said  Charlotte. 

"  No  !     Guess  again  !  "  said  Wentworth. 

"I  know,  I  know!"  cried  Bertha;  "Mr.  Went- 
worth painted  it.  " 

"  Isn't  that  girl  smart  ?  Why  didn't  we  think  of  it 
before  ?  "  said  Charlotte. 

"  Because  it  isn't  so.  I  only  wish  I  could  paint  like 
that." 

"Artist  !  Artist  !  "  cried  Charlotte  ;  "every  body 
call  artist !  " 

Poor  Robert  had  crept  to  a  dark  corner  near  the 
door,  and  heard  the  call  with  terror.  He  was  relieved 
by  hearing  Wentworth  say  that  the  artist  would  be 
known  in  good  time,  but  they  must  now  prepare  for 
rehearsal.  But  under  pretext  of  looking  at  Bertha's 
music  he  whispered  to  her  the  secret. 

"  The  artist  is  Robert  Ravenel  ;  he  and  I  are  good 
friends  and  he  has  been  working  with  us  for  two 
weeks.  He's  in  the  far  corner  on  the  left  of  the  door, 
and  afraid  to  meet  you." 

"  I  can't  sing  at  once,"  said  Bertha  ;  "  let  Sumter 
come  on  first." 

Sumter  had  hardly  got  through  when  a  little  scream 
was  heard  near  the  door. 

"  Oh,  oh  !  There's  somebody  down  here — there's 
a  man  here  !  " 

It  was  Bertha's  voice.  Robert  had  seen  her  wan- 
dering his  way,  absorbed  in  her  music,  and  crouched, 


170  PINE  AND  PALM. 

with  his  back  turned  to  escape  recognition.  His 
blood  curdled  at  her  cry. 

"  Why  !  "  she  said  innocently,  when  all  had  rushed 
up,  "if  it  isn't  Mr.  Ravenel  !  " 

Robert  came  forward,  looking  sheepish,  and  Bertha 
clapped  her  hands. 

"  I  know  !  This  time  I  do  know  ;  the  artist  is 
Robert  Ravenel  !  " 

"  Right  !  "  shouted  Wentworth  and  Saint  together. 

Robert  could  not  escape  his  ovation.  Leroy  and 
Stringfield  shook  his  hand  with  warmth,  the  latter 
expressing  the  hope  of  seeing  him  at  Selwood.  When 
last  of  all  came  Bertha, — the  rest  now  returning 
toward  the  stage, — the  culprit  shrank  back. 

"  It's  beautiful,  Robert,  and  we  owe  you  so  much 
for  it  !  " 

"  Oh,  Miss  Bertha,"  he  said  in  a  scarce  audible 
tone,  "  don't  speak  to  me  !  I've  committed  the 
unpardonable  sin." 

"  I  won't  hear  of  that." 

"  You  don't  know  half.  I  wasn't  only  a  brute  to 
you,  but  to  him — he'd  never  tell  you,  but  I  tried  to 
murder  him — yes,  on  the  highway — and  he  the  gent- 
lest gentleman  that  ever  lived.  No,  it's  no  use,  I've 
committed  the  unpardonable  sin,  I'm  not  fit  for  you 
to  speak  to — I'm  not  fit  to  be  here,  but  he  begged  me 
to  come." 

"  Let  bygones  be  bygones,  Robert ;  you  must  come 
and  listen,  we  want  you  to  criticise — do  come !  " 

"Where's  Bertha  ?  "  cried  several  voices. 

"  Here  I  am  !  Where  are  your  eyes,  shouting  at  a 
body  when  she's  studying  her  music  close  by  you  ?  " 


ART  AND  ARTIFICE.  171 

In  a  few  moments  the  sisters  were  singing  their 
duet,  and  Robert  was  drawn  by  fascination  to  a  bench 
behind  Wentworth,  to  whom  he  whispered  when 
the  duet  was  over. 

"  Is  she  not  an  angel  !  She  even  came  and  spoke 
to  me  after  all  my  crimes.  I'm  in  hell  and  it's 
too  good  for  me.  I'm  going  now  to  hide  my  head 
somewhere,  but  to  my  dying  day  I'll  not  forget  what 
you've  done.  Should  we  never  meet  again — " 

"  Will  you  please  shift  that  scene  a  little  forward," 
cried  Wentworth,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  the  whispers 
behind  him.  "  Wait  a  moment,  Saint,  Mr.  Ravenel 
will  put  the  scene  where  it  will  be  brighter." 

Robert  was  soon  on  the  stage,  and  when  the  really 
needless  change  was  made  Wentworth  thanked  him 
and  said  :  "  Please  don't  go,  for  I  need  your  help 
with  my  Magic  Lantern." 

The  rehearsal  having  passed  off  to  general  satis- 
faction they  all  walked  home,  Bertha  managing  to 
get  some  private  conversation  with  Wentworth  on  the 
way. 

"  Mr.  Wentworth,  did  you  and  Robert  have  any 
hostile  meeting  ?  He  said  he  tried  to  murder  you." 

"  Nonsense.  The  fellow  exaggerates  everything 
against  himself.  Why,  he  told  me  he  insulted  you, 
abused  you,  accused  you  of  heinous  crimes  !  " 

"  He  must  have  dreamed  most  of  that,  but  he  was 
terrible, — and  his  language  wasn't  proper." 

"  What !  Did  he  use  improper  language  to  a  lady  !  " 

"  Oh,  not  exactly  toward  me — but — " 

"About  me  ;  still,  I'm  shocked  that,  before  a  lady, 
he  could  use  coarse — " 


172  PINE  AND  PALM, 

"  Oh  dear  me, — it  wasn't  exactly  that  either  ;  I 
don't  like  to  repeat  it." 

"  Language  you  can't  repeat  !    I  give  him  up." 

"  Mr.  Wentworth,  hold  your  ear  down,"  said  Bertha, 
and  she  whispered — "  He  said  damn  !  " 

11  Dreadful  !  but  I  think  I'll  take  him  back  again. 
He  was  in  great  pain,  and  that  sometimes  calls  up 
expressions  people  have  heard — in  church." 

"  But  how  did  you  soften  him  ?  I  do  believe  you 
could  enter  the  lions'  den,  like  Daniel." 

"  I  wouldn't  be  afraid  if  the  lions  were  in  love  with 
pretty  lionesses,  and  knew  I  was  a  friend  of  the  lion- 
esses :  they'd  all  turn  to  lambs." 

"  That's  like  ^Esop's  fables,"  said  Bertha,  turning 
crimson. 

"  Now  tell  me  something  about  these  Ravenels." 

Bertha  gave  some  account  of  the  family,  and  Went- 
worth  asked  if  it  was  likely  that  any  of  them  would 
assist  in  future  entertainments.  Fanny  was  summoned 
to  advise  on  this  point.  They  were  not  certain.  If 
old  Mr.  Ravenel  shouldn't  take  up  a  prejudice  against 
the  scheme  Eleanor  might  sing  a  song.  The  younger 
sister  Netty  was  bright  and  pretty  but  they  knew  little 
of  her.  There  was  a  general  consultation  on  the  same 
subject  that  evening.  The  sympathy  of  the  Ravenels 
with  their  projects  was  regarded  by  Leroy  as  so 
important,  especially  that  of  the  magistrate,  that 
Wentworth  resolved  to  visit  Rochelle  the  next  day. 

St.  Jean  and  Robert  were  absent  when  Wentworth 
arrived  at  Rochelle  ;  but  that  the  visitor  did  not 
regret,  for  he  desired  a  preliminary  interview  with 
Eleanor.  This  lady  met  him  with  a  warmth  which 


ART  AND  ARTIFICE,  173 

suggested  knowledge  of  his  relations  with  her  brother 
— her  "rash  brother," — and  her  tears  started  when 
Wentworth  said  he  might  be  rash  but  had  as  true  a 
heart  as  ever  beat.  Eleanor  was  half  won  to  the  Barn 
movement  before  he  came  :  at  the  end  of  an  hour 
there  was  formed  a  conspiracy  of  three  women — 
Madame  Ravenel,  Eleanor,  and  Netty — and  two  men 
(Robert  being  taken  for  granted)  to  secure  the  old 
Huguenot's  favor  for  the  entertainments.  In  case  of 
their  success  Eleanor  would  not  refuse  her  ballads, 
and  Netty  would  "  participate  in  a  recitation " — 
euphemism  agreed  on  for  "  acting  " — in  any  small  part. 
In  view  of  the  important  end  to  be  attained  Wentworth 
accepted  an  invitation  to  remain  to  dinner,  for  which 
St.  Jean  and  his  son  duly  returned. 

Whatever  might  be  the  faults  of  St.  Jean  Ravenel, 
inhospitality  was  not  among  them.  To  him  his  guest 
was  of  all  men  the  superior.  Wentworth  was  made  at 
ease  in  his  presence,  and  the  dinner  passed  off 
pleasantly  enough.  The  Martin-summer,  as  it  was 
called  at  Rochelle,  continued,  and  the  gentlemen 
smoked  in  the  verandah — St.  Jean  his  silver-mounted 
corn-cob  pipe.  The  Bostonian  was  fairly  fascinated 
by  the  elder  Ravenel,  having  never  before  seen  so 
picturesque  a  personage.  His  silvery  hair  with  its 
queue,  his  ruffles,  and  snow-white  cravat  flowing 
through  a  large  sapphire  ring,  his  ancient  watch-seals 
falling  beneath  the  waistcoat,  and  blue  dress-coat  with 
plain  brass  buttons,  were  all  in  harmony  with  the 
gracious  dignity  of  the  man.  Wentworth  thought 
that  if  he  were  getting  up  theatricals  in  Boston  he 
could  wish  nothing  better  than  have  such  a  figure 


174  PINE  AND  PALM. 

simply  appear  on  the  stage.  When  his  fellow-conspir- 
ators had  left  him  alone  with  St.  Jean,  Wentworth 
found  that  he  had  been  too  much  interested  in  this 
unique  old  gentleman  to  consider  properly  any  plan 
for  besieging  him.  He  opened  rather  feebly. 

"  I  can  hardly  imagine  a  pleasanter  place  than  you 
have  here,"  he  said,  and  then,  with  compunction  for 
the  commonplace,  added," — it's  a  place  for  com- 
munion with  poets." 

"  Yes,  we  have  some  leisure  for  reading,  but  I  find 
good  books  rare.  My  family  have  less  difficulty  ; 
they  are  just  now  making  an  ado  about  a  Mr.  Kingsley, 
but  I've  not  looked  into  him  yet.  I  stick  to  my  Moliere, 
my  Milton,  and  Shakespeare  ;  they  are  likely  to  last 
my  remnant  of  days." 

"  In  the  company  of  such  giants  I  don't  wonder 
modern  writers  seem  pigmies.  I  myself  was  brought 
up  on  Milton,  and  to  this  day  he  appears  to  me  almost 
incomparable/' 

"  For  thirty  years  no  week  has  passed  without  my 
reading  something  from  Milton.  And,  by  the  way,  if 
you  are  interested  in  such  things  I  have  an  old  edition 
of  Milton  that  belonged  to  my  grandfather  ;  his 
pencilings  are  in  it." 

"I  should  much  like  to  see  it." 

"  It  is  at  my  office  ;  will  you  go  with  me  ? " 

Passing  through  a  garden,  and  an  avenue  of  aspens 
for  some  two  hundred  yards,  they  entered  a  white 
frame  office  with  neatly-turned  pillars  in  front.  The 
walls  were  well  stocked  with  books,  the  table  loaded 
with  business  papers.  The  Milton  was  at  once  laid 
before  Wentworth. 


ART  AND  ARTIFICE.  175 

"  A  Hollis  !  "  he  cried,  "  there's  his  owl !  But  this 
is  rare." 

"  And  pray  who  or  what  is  Hollis  ?  "  asked  St.  Jean. 

"  An  admirable  Englishman  who  lived  a  hundred 
years  ago  and  brought  out  a  superb  edition  of  Milton  : 
this  copy  is  from  his  own  library." 

"  How  could  you  tell  ?  That  name  is  indeed  inside, 
but  it  never  conveyed  any  meaning  to  me/' 

"  Every  book  in  his  library  was  bound  in  red,  with 
an  owl  on  it  ;  if  he  thought  the  book  not  wise  the  owl 
was  reversed.  Any  Hollis  book  brings  a  solid 
price,  but  a  Hollis  Milton  is  worth  its  weight  in 
gold." 

"  This  is  very  interesting.  Where  can  I  find  more 
about  this  Mr.  Hollis  ?  " 

"  I  own  a  copy  of  his  Memoirs,  and  it  shall  be  in 
your  hands  next  week.  If  you  will  pardon  my 
egotism,  I  passed  my  college  life  in  a  building  named 
after  him,  *  Hollis  Hall/  for  he  was  a  great  benefactor 
of  Harvard  university." 

The  old  gentleman  was  grateful  for  the  promise  but 
deprecated  the  trouble  it  might  involve.  Wentworth 
assured  him  it  would  be  a  pleasure,  and  began  to  turn 
over  the  pages,  meanwhile  summoning  his  wits  to 
follow  up  his  lucky  hit ;  for  Leroy  feared  that  St. 
Jean's  disfavor  might  even  prove  fatal  to  the  innova- 
tion at  the  Barn.  He  concluded  at  last  to  try  and 
utilize  Milton. 

"  I  never  read  these  majestic  poems,"  said  Went- 
worth, "  without  thinking  what  a  grand  thing  it  would 
be  if  passages  from  them  could  be  recited  before 
masses  of  men," 


176  PINE  AMD  PALM. 

"  In  the  way  he  himself  has  described/'  said  St 
Jean  with  some  eagerness, — "  do  you  remember  that 
passage  ? " 

"  Can  you  find  it  readily  ? " 

"  Easily, — here  it  is,  in  the  Plea  against  Prelaty." 
"  It  would  delight  me  to  hear  you  read  it." 
"  Certainly  : — *  But  because  the  spirit  of  man  can 
not  demean  itself  lively  in  this  body  without  some 
recreating  intermission  of  labor  and  serious  things, 
it  were  happy  for  the  commonwealth  if  our  magis-* 
trates,  as  in  those  famous  governments  of  old,  would 
take  into  their  care,  not  only  the  deciding  of  our  con- 
tentious law-cases  and  brawls,  but  the  managing  of 
our  public  sports  and  festival  pastimes  ;  that  they 
might  be,  not  such  as  men  authorized  a  while  since, 
the  provocations  of  drunkenness  and  lust,  but  such  as 
may  inure  and  harden  our  bodies  by  martial  exercises 
to  all  warlike  skill  and  performance  :  and  may  civilize, 
adorn,  and  make  discreet  our  minds  by  the  learned 
and  affable  meeting  of  frequent  academies,  and  the 
procurement  of  wise  and  artful  recitations,  sweetened 
with  eloquent  and  graceful  enticements  to  the  love 
and  practice  of  justice,  temperance,  and  fortitude, 
instructing  and  bettering  the  nation  at  all  opportu- 
nities, that  the  call  of  wisdon  and  virtue  maybe  heard 
everywhere,  as  Solomon  saith  :  "  She  crieth  without, 
.she  lifteth  up  her  voice  in  the  streets,  in  the  top  of 
high  places,  in  the  chief  concourse,  and  in  the  open- 
ings of  the  gates."  Whether  this  may  not  be,  not 
only  in  pulpits,  but  after  another  persuasive  method, 
at  set  and  solemn  paneguries,  in  theaters,  porches,  or 
what  other  way  may  win  most  upon  the  people  to 


ART  AND   ARTIFICE.  177 

receive  at  once  both  recreation  and  instruction,  let 
them  in  authority  consult." 

"  That  is  great  ! "  cried  Wentworth,  "  where  else 
can  be  found  such  writing,  such  sublime  truth. 

"  My  grandfather  has  added  on  the  margin  : 
'  Behold  a  lighthouse  among  lanterns  !  These  words 
should  be  written  in  gold  over  the  head  of  every 
magistrate.' " 

"  The  marginal  note  should  be  printed  in  gold  over 
that  owl." 

"  He  was  indeed  a  fine  old  magistrate,  albeit  book- 
worm,—my  son  bears  his  name,  Robert  Julian  Rav- 
enel." 

"  Mr.  Ravenel,  you  were  led  to  that  passage  by  a 
happy  inspiration,  for  it  opens  up  a  subject  I  am 
anxious  to  consult  you  about.  Being  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  connected  for  a  time  with  a  school,  I  am  try- 
ing to  get  up  something  of  the  kind  described  by 
Milton,  something  that  will  unite  instruction  with 
recreation — in  a  small  way  indeed,  but  we  must  not 
despise  the  day  of  small  things." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  Many  a  time,  when  sots 
have  been  brought  before  me  from  brawls  at  cock- 
fights and  dog-fights,  our  county  amusements,  I  have 
reflected  what  a  blessing  would  be  some  elevating 
recreation  in  this  region." 

"  This  gives  me  hope  that  you  will  sympathize  with 
my  efforts." 

"  I  can  give  you  no  aid,  I  am  old,  and  can  barely 
jog  on  my  daily  round  to  the  end." 

"  To  have  your  good  will  in  my  effort  to  do 
something  in  the  spirit  of  that  glorious  passage 


178  PIKE  AND  PALM. 

you  have  read,  were  help  and  encouragement 
enough." 

"  That  you  have  with  all  my  heart.  And  though 
I  am  too  old  for  more,  perhaps  my  young  people  may 
be  able  to  render  service  in  a  thing  like  that." 

When  Wentworth  returned  to  the  verandah  with  the 
venerable  St.  Jean,  the  conspirators  saw  success  on 
his  beaming  countenance. 

"  Now  you  must  take  your  nap,  father,"  said  Eleanor, 
"  Mr.  Wentworth  will  excuse  you." 

"  No,  child, — I  don't  need  it  at  all." 

"  But  you  must,  father." 

"Pray  do,  sir,"  said  Wentworth,  "or  I  should  never 
dare  to  come  again,  as  I  meant  to  ask  permission 
to  do.  " 

"  You  troublesome  girl,"  said  the  old  man  rising. 
"  My  children  read  in  their  Bible  *  Parents  obey  your 
children.'  I  hope  you  will  remain  for  the  night,  Mr. 
Wentworth." 

u  Another  time  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  so,  but 
must  deny  myself  now.  Good  by  for  the  present, 
sir." 

"  Good-by,  and  let  us  see  you  again  !  " 

Wentworth's  success  caused  less  surprise  to  the 
other  conspirators  than  he  expected.  Eleanor 
remarked  that  though  her  father  might  have  a  few 
prejudices  he  knew  a  good  deal  of  human  nature,  and 
could  tell  when  a  man  was  animated  by  the  right 
spirit. 

"  But,"  said  Wentworth  bowing,  "  magistrate  though 
he  is,  I  fear  he  can  not  always  recognize  guilt.  I 
never  felt  guiltier  than  when  I  found  myself  out  there 


ART  AND  ARTIFICE.  179 

practising   stratagems  on  a  large  heart  whose  gates 
were  all  open." 

u  Perhaps  you  knew  the  sesame  to  open  them." 
"  No,  he  found  even  that  himself — it  was  Milton." 
"  Whom  he  holds  next  to  his  Bible,"  said  Madame 
Ravenel. 

Before  Wentworth  left  the  second  programme  was 
already  arranged  and  the  parts  Eleanor  and  Netty  were 
to  take.  He  was  met  by  the  Leroys  with  upbraidings 
for  his  absence  from  dinner,  but  these  were  silenced 
by  the  happy  story  he  had  to  tell  of  his  visit  to 
Rochelle. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

MIRACLE-PLAYERS    TO    SAMBO. 

IT  had  been  arranged  that  the  negroes  should 
come  to  the  entertainments  by  relays,  as  the 
Barn  could  hold  only  three  hundred  and  fifty.  Mr. 
Haswell,  who  from  the  first  had  been  consulted, 
announced  the  arrangements  from  his  pulpit ;  and  the 
evening,  anticipated  with  many  speculations,  came  at 
last — a  never-to-be-forgotten  Saturday  !  Punctually 
at  eight  the  curtain  was  drawn  by  an  invisible  hand, 
revealing  the  interior  of  a  palace,  which  elicited  an 
exclamation  of  delight  from  one  voice  with  several 
hundred  throats.  Then  Leroy  made  a  little  speech. 

"  My  colored  friends,  we  have  come  to  amuse  and 
interest  you.  All  of  us  have  work  enough  to  do,  and 
it  won't  harm  us  to  have  a  little  play  now  and  then. 
We  all  have  troubles,  and  it  will  do  us  good  to  forget 
them.  We  haven't  asked  white  folks  because  we 
wanted  all  the  room  for  you.  Next  time  we  shall  have 
the  younger  colored  people,  and  white  folks  must  wait 
for  the  third  table." 

"  Thanky,  sir,"  said  a  voice. 

"  Hold  your  tongue  !  "  cried  other  voices,  to  the  last. 

"  No,"  said  Leroy,  "you  needn't  hold  your  tongues. 
AVhen  any  song  or  recitation  is  going  on  it  is  better  to 
wait  till  it  is  through  before  saying  what  you  think  or 


MIRACLE-PLAYERS   TO   SAMBO.  181 

feel ;  but  don't  feel  tongue-tied  here,  nor  afraid  of 
anybody.  My  daughters  will  now  sing  "  Home,  Sweet 
Home." 

When  Fanny  and  Bertha  appeared  in  their  simple 
white  dresses  there  were  lively  exclamations — •"  Ain't 
dey  pooty  !  "  "  Dey's  angels,  dey  is  !  "  They  sang 
tenderly,  and  now  and  then  a  plaintive  note  from  some 
listener  mingled  with  the  refrain.  Sumter  did  fam- 
ously, eliciting  cries  of  "  Ain't  he  smart  !  "  "  Dat 
chile'll  be  a  preacher,  sartin  ! " 

Bertha's  shamrock  spells,  preceded  by  Leroy's 
explanation  of  the  Irish  superstition,  were  sweetly 
woven,  and  her  applause  was  fi  Bless  her  heart !  " 
"  She'd  make  every  body  happy  if  she  could  !  "  The 
music  was  indeed  all  successful,  and  the  interval  that 
followed  was  filled  with  a  general  buzz  of  delight  more 
musical  to  some  ears  present  than  the  concert.  There 
was  deep  stillness  when  the  lights  were  put  out.  All 
the  performers  except  Wentworth  and  his  assistants — 
Stringfield  and  Robert — slipped  out  among  the  spec- 
tators, oblivious  of  caste  in  their  eagerness  to  see  the 
magic  pictures.  When  a  great  circle  of  light  on  the 
sheet  revealed  them  standing  along  the  wall  the 
negroes  sprang  up  to  offer  them  seats. 

*'  Sit  still !  "  cried  Leroy  ;  "  we  are  the  servants 
now,  and  wish  to  stand." 

"  That  ain't  proper,  marsa." 

"  Yes,  it  is,  Ben.  If  you  wish  to  please  us  keep 
your  seats  and  watch  the  pictures  of  the  Prodigal  Son 
which  our  friend  and  yours,  Mr.  Wentworth,  has  taken 
much  pains  to  obtain  for  us." 

The   pictures   were   pretty   and   caused   emotional 


1 82  PINE  AND  PALM. 

delight.  Stringfield's  melodious  voice  was  heard  from 
behind  the  scene  reciting  each  part  of  the  parable  as 
it  was  illustrated,  an  occasional  "  Bless  the  Lord,"  or 
other  word  responding  out  of  the  darkness  in  front. 
The  Prodigal  was  seen  parting  from  his  parents, 
feasting  with  luxurious  and  dissolute  companions, 
ragged  and  haggard  among  the  swine,  journeying 
homeward, — the  father  falling  on  his  son's  neck,  the 
Feast  of  the  Fatted  Calf.  Then  Stringfield's  voice 
filled  the  room — "  This  my  son  was  dead  but  is  alive 
again  ;  he  was  lost  but  is  found." 

"  Glory  to  God  !  "  cried  a  voice  from  the  front. 

"  Glory  !  glory  !  "  answered  a  hundred. 

"  Show  us  that  agin,  please  marsa  !  " 

Wentworth  went  over  the  series  again,  and  then 
there  was  a  scene  of  wild  excitement,  amid  which  an 
old  negro  cried,  "  Let  us  pray  ! "  In  a  moment  all 
kneeled,  and  out  of  the  darkness  came  a  prayer  no 
longer  to  be  contained — a  prayer  to  Jesus  who  "came 
to  seek  and  to  save  de  loss,"  that  he  would  "bless 
Marse  Leroy  and  his  family,  and  de  gemman  who  has 
showed  us  pore  cullud  people  dese  picters — bless  dat 
Marse  Wentfur  in  'tickler — and  bless  Miss  Fanny  and 
Berthy  and  Marse  Saint  and  Sumter— and  de  Lord 
'specially  bless  missis  for  teachin'  her  chillen  to  'mem- 
ber de  pore  and  needy— sweet  Jesus  don't  forget  'em 
[Amen  !] — no,  Lord,  'member  'em  when  dou  comest  in 
dy  kingdom  [hallelujah,  come  Lord  !]— put  dy  arms 
right  roun'  all  dar  necks  an  say,  'Well  done  good  and 
faithful  servants,  ye  was  kind  to  dem  pore  niggers, 
and  I'm  agwine  to  be  kind  to  you.'  " 

"  Amen  !  "     The  last  words  of  the  prayer  were  lost 


MIRACLE-PLAYERS   TO   SAMBO.  183 

in  the  shout,  and  a  female  voice  began  singing, 
"  Canaan,  Sweet  Canaan,"  the  Barn  being  presently 
filled  with  a  great  surge  of  sound. 

Mr.  Stringfield  now  briefly  told  the  story  of  Mac- 
beth, which  was  the  next  thing  in  order.  The  cos- 
tumes sent  by  Abrahams  would  hardly  have  satisfied 
an  antiquarian,  but  fortunately  no  Dryasdust  was 
present.  Wentworth  as  Macbeth  wore  semi-military 
dress,  and  Lady  Macbeth  (Charlotte)  was  an  impos- 
ing figure  in  her  black  robe,  hoopless,  long  trained, 
low  at  the  neck,  on  her  head  a  dazzling  coronet. 
When  the  curtain  rose  she  was  seen  in  the  gorgeous 
palace  listening  at  the  door  while  Macbeth  was  com- 
mitting the  murder  within.  When  he  rushed  out 
exclaiming  "  I  have  done  the  deed,"  there  was  a  visi- 
ble sensation  in  the  crowd  ;  and,  as  the  guilty  pair 
were  exchanging  their  horrors,  little  Lily  began  to  cry, 
Fanny  soothing  her  with  assurance  that  they  were 
"  only  making  'tence."  Wentworth  made  an  impres- 
sion with  the  words — 

"  Methought  I  heard  a  voice  cry,  '  Sleep  no  more  ! 
Macbeth  does  murder  sleep/  the  innocent  sleep, 
Sleep  that  knits  up  the  ravelled  sleeve  of  care, 
The  death  of  each  day's  life,  slow  labor's  bath, 
Balm  of  hurt  minds — " 

"  That's  so  !  "  cried  a  woman. 

"  B'lieve  you,  honey,"  said  another. 

When  Lady  Macbeth  said — "  'Tis  the  eye  of  child- 
hood that  fears  a  painted  devil,"  a  voice  cried  "  You 
jes  wait  till  he  get  hold  of  you  !  "  Charlotte's  red 
hands,  after  she  had  smeared  the  grooms,  caused  mur- 
murs of  horror,  and  the  knocking  at  the  door  that  fol- 


1 84  PINE  AND  PALM. 

lowed  thrilled  the  assembly  into  awe-struck  silence. 
On  this  the  curtain  fell.  When  it  rose,  the  doctor 
(Stringfield)  and  waiting  gentlewoman  (Mrs.  Leroy) 
held  their  colloquy,  and  presently  Lady  Macbeth 
appeared  in  white  gown,  bearing  a  candle  in  her  hand, 
her  face  whitened  to  ghastliness.  The  sharp  crash  of 
the  fallen  candlestick  made  all  start  :  a  weird  half- 
light  was  left  on  the  scene.  There  was  a  minute  of 
awful  silence  ;  then  the  hand  was  raised  to  the  star- 
ing eyes,  slowly  lowered,  rubbed  with  the  other,  the 
words  hissing  out — u  Here's  a  spot  !  "  When  the 
curdling  cry  came — "  Out  damned  spot  !  out  I  say  !  " 
the  horror  became  incontainable. 

"  It's  blood  on  her  hands  !  " 

"  What,  will  these  hands  ne'er  be  clean  ?  "  contin- 
ued the  actress. 

"  Cussin'  won't  clean  'em." 

"  She  need  de  Jordan,  she  do." 

"  Pore  creeter,  anf  in  her  nightgown  too  !  " 

The  doctor's  final  words  "  Good  God  forgive  us  all" 
elicited  many  "  amens  "  ;  and  after  the  wailing  female 
voices  were  heard  without,  and  the  queen's  death  was 
announced,  an  old  man  cried  "  Thar  sin  hath  foun' 
'em  out !  " 

The  curtain  fell,  the  entertainment  was  over,  but 
the  crowd  seemed  loth  to  go  ;  Leroy  presently  found 
that  the  "  keening  "  of  the  women  at  the  death  of 
Lady  Macbeth  had  shaken  the  nerves  of  some  ;  they 
"  hoped  they  was  all  right  back  thar,"  but  so  anxiously 
that  it  was  deemed  prudent  that  the  actors  should 
show  themselves,  smiling,  hand  in  hand.  There  was 
no  applause — no  negro  among  them  had  ever  been  to 


MIRACLE-PLAYERS    TO   SAMBO.  185 

an  entertainment  before,  or  knew  the  custom  of  audi- 
ences— but  as  they  filed  out  and  passed  to  their  cabins 
their  voices  could  be  heard  in  eager  discussion  of 
what  they  had  seen. 

This  thrice-given  entertainment  was  so  successful 
that  its  promoters  were  much  encouraged.  The  white 
audience  was  enthusiastic,  and  it  was  soon  made 
known  that  several  families  included  one  or  more  in- 
dividuals able  to  assist  in  future  entertainments. 
Leroy  Island  burgeoned  with  unsuspected  talent. 
On  the  second  occasion  Eleanor  Ravenel  sang  "  Lord 
Ullin's  Daughter,"  Sumter  recited  "  Hail,  Holy  Light" 
from  Paradise  Lost,  the  Leroy  sisters  sang  the  duet 
"  I  know  a  bank  where  the  wild  thyme  blows,"  and 
there  was  a  beautiful  magic  lantern  series  from  "  The 
Pilgrim's  Progress."  In  the  trial-scene  from  the  "Mer- 
chant of  Venice,"  Charlotte  made  a  perfect  Portia  and 
Netty  Ravenel  a  piquant  Nerissa.  Wentworth  took  the 
part  of  ShyJock  and  Leroy  that  of  Antonio.  The 
negroes  were  so  excited  by  the  Jew's  refusal  of  thrice 
his  money  in  his  eagerness  for  the  pound  of  flesh  that 
their  protests  became  noisy,  and  the  Venetian  judge 
(Stringfield)  found  it  necessary  to  promise  that  it 
would  come  right  in  the  end. 

"  What  we  wants  to  know,  sah,  is  what  fur  he  do  it. 
Whyn't  he  take  de  cash  an'  whut  he  want  de  man's 
meat  fur  ?" 

"Well,  my  friend,"  said  Stringfield,  "  Shylock's 
been  badly  used  for  a  long  time,  especially  by  this 
same  man,  who  used  to  spit  upon  him  till  he  wanted 
his  money,  and  even  then  said  he'd  do  it  again.  Shy- 
lock  is  also  the  chief  man  of  the  Jews,  and  all  his  tribe 


N&  AND  PALM. 


had  been  so  despised  and  persecuted  that  he  wants  to 
avenge  his  race.  Bad  as  his  thirst  for  revenge  is, 
there's  some  feeling  of  justice  in  it." 

"  Thanky,  sah,  an  beg  pardon  for  interfering  but  it's 
hard  to  bar  in  mind  dat  it's  all  in  fun." 

Portia's  plea  for  mercy  moved  all  hearts,  and  Shy- 
lock's  obduracy  after  it  caused  some  hearer  to  mur- 
mur —  "  Dat  Jew'cl  crucify  de  Lord."  But  when  the 
tables  were  turned  on  Shylock,  his  property  taken,  his 
life  threatened,  and  he  moved  to  the  door  amid  jeers, 
some  sympathy  gathered  to  his  side. 

"  Pore  ole  man  !  " 

"  Dey's  harder'n  he  was." 

"  But  dey's  gwine  to  baptize  him,  dat's  somethinV 

From  the  day  of  the  first  success  Stringfield  had 
formed  a  scheme  which  would  have  been  too  daring 
in  a  more  sophisticated  neighborhood  —  nothing  less 
than  to  usher  in  Christmas  with  tableaux  of  the  Nativ- 
ity. Wentworth  was  charmed  with  the  clergyman's 
audacity.  It  was  determined  that  this  entertainment 
should  begin  on  Christmas-eve  with  lantern-pictures, 
Wentworth  having  among  his  slides  Abraham  enter- 
taining the  Angels,  Ruth  and  Boaz,  the  Queen  of 
Sheba  visiting  Solomon,  Job  in  his  tribulation,  Job  in 
his  triumph,  and  the  Star  of  Bethlehem  with  Shep- 
herds. All  these  were  to  be  given  in  the  above  order, 
and  the  tableaux  vivants  follow  so  as  to  bring  that 
of  the  Nativity  at  midnight. 

Robert  Ravenel  never  worked  so  hard  in  his  life  as 
on  the  scenery.  St.  George  hunted  for  ten  miles 
round  for  a  donkey  and  at  last  brought  back  the  pic- 
turesque little  animal  which,  in  that  region,  was  a  show 


MIRACLE-PLAYERS  TO  SAMBO.  187 

in  himself.  Stringfield,  an  accomplished  chorist  him- 
self, drilled  a  choir  of  boys  and  maidens  to  sing  hymns 
appropriate  to  the  tableaux.  Much  work  was  required, 
but  enthusiasm  and  enterprise  prevailed  over,  all  diffi- 
culties. The  young  people  of  the  neighborhood  never 
before  saw  so  much  of  each  other  as  during  these 
preparations,  and  the  Barn  was  associated  forever 
with  the  merriest  Christmas  known  in  Leroy  Island. 
On  the  eventful  evening  the  Barn  was  crowded  to 
its  utmost  capacity.  Stringfield 's  voice,  now  familiar 
to  the  audience,  accompanied  the  lantern-pictures 
with  descriptive  words  and  texts.  Then  in  front  of 
the  stage  moved  a  chorus  of  twelve  genii,  Eleanor 
Ravenel  leading  the  female,  Stringfield  the  male  chor- 
isters. They  were  dressed  in  different  colors,  but 
the  robes  of  all  reached  to  the  feet  from  infant  waists, 
and  all  had  large  sleeves  which,  when  their  arms  were 
raised,  bore  a  purposed  resemblance  to  wings.  Each 
head  was  bound  with  a  golden  fillet,  the  hair  falling 
loose  beneath  it.  It  was  like  a  rainbow  become  ani- 
mate when  they  formed  a  curve  before  the  cur- 
tain ;  their  voices  rang  out  their  rapture  and  their 
arms  were  waved  with  energy  as  they  sang  the  glad 
tidings.  While  the  lantern-picture  of  the  Star  and 
Shepherds  was  yet  lingering  in  the  vision  of  the  spec- 
tators the  genii  sang  "  While  shepherds  watched  their 
flocks  by  night  ;  "  at  its  conclusion  they  parted  to 
either  side  and  the  curtain  rose  on  Mary  kneeling 
before  the  Angel.  Fanny  had  the  Madonna  face,  and 
was  lovely  as,  clothed  in  bridal  white,  she  knelt  beside 
a  tall  lily,  her  eyes  down-dropt  but  shoulders  erect, 
her  hands  crossed  on  her  breast.  A  quaint  and  lyrical 


1 88  PINE  AND  PALM. 

beauty,  enhanced  by  floating  light  hair,  made  Netty 
Ravenel  a  picturesque  angel ;  she  bore  in  her  hand  a 
palm-leaf.     A  breathless  stillness  prevailed,  as  if  each 
feared  by  any  sound  to  startle  away  the  vision.     As  it 
faded  the   genii   sang,  "  Hark   the   glad   sound  !  the 
Saviour  comes."     The  second  tableau  (Salutation  of 
Elizabeth)  was  preceded  by  the  hymn- 
Love  divine  all  love  excelling, 
Joy  of  heaven  to  earth  come  down. 

The  embrace  of  Mary  and  Elizabeth  (Mrs.  Leroy 
and  Fanny)  could  not  be  seen  but  as  that  of  mother 
and  daughter — through  mist  of  tears.  Leroy  was 
Zecharias. 

The  hymn  that  preceded  the  tableau  of  the  Nativity 
and  Adoration  was  "  Hark  the  herald  angels  sing  !  " 
This  scene  was  a  wonder.  In  the  stable-interior  the 
heads  of  oxen  seen  above  their  stall  were  painted, 
with  straw  and  realistic  rack.  Joseph  (Went worth),  his 
legs  bare  and  bronzed,  stood  behind  the  ass,  his  look 
reverently  bent  on  Mary  ;  she  (Fanny)  was  seated  with 
the  child, — a  doll  of  Lily's,  almost  as  large  as  herself, 
whose  face  was  concealed.  The  curtain  being  lowered 
for  a  moment,  the  genii  sang  "  O  come  all  ye  faithful," 
at  the  end  of  which  the  same  tableau  was  shown  with 
addition  of  the  Three  Kings.  The  great  planter  as 
Caspar  kneeling  between  two  fine-looking  negroes, 
one  (Wesley)  light,  the  other  (Uncle  Zeb)  very  black 
— Melchior  and  Balthazar — all  in  rich  barbaric  cos- 
tumes, was  a  supernatural  sight  for  the  spectators. 
The  choristers  sang  "  Brightest  and  best  of  the  sons 
of  the  morning,"  in  which  a  duet  by  Masters  Andy 
Scott  and  Charley  Millward  gained  them  fame  and 


MIRACLE-PLAYERS    TO   SAMBO.  i8§ 

Cemented  their  friendship.  This  tableau  was  called 
for  again  and  again,  poor  Joseph  not  having  time  even 
to  disturb  a  flea  settled  on  his  calf,  "  characteristi- 
cally," as  Stringfield  said  when  he  saw  him  rub  the 
spot,  "  shedding  his  blood  for  the  slave."  The  furzy 
donkey  was  effective  in  the  tableau  of  the  Flight.  In 
the  closing  tableau  (Jesus  in  the  Temple)  St.  George 
was  Simeon.  Mary  had  provided  herself  with  two 
white  pigeons  which  she  held  fluttering  about  her  with 
blue  ribands,  and  the  favorite  hymn  "  Come  Holy 
Spirit,  heavenly  dove,"  was  sung. 

The  effect  of  these  tableaux  is  indescribable,  hardly 
imaginable.  These  negroes  had  never  seen  an  artistic 
creation  in  their  lives  ;  their  untrained  sense  was  as 
little  able  to  see  the  beauty  in  nature  as  their  mind  to 
read  geologic  records  in  the  alluvium  they  dug.  The 
Biblical  poetry  had  been  vulgarized  to  them.  The 
sun  had  sent  new  rays  since  the  Barn  was  opened. 
The  Ixion-wheel  of  toil  stood  still  for  one  evening  in  the 
seven,  and  its  victims  were  compensated  with  glimpses 
of  a  transfigured  world. 

Leroy  gave  his  Christmas  bounties  from  the  stage, 
each  dollar  being  multiplied  miraculously  by  the  cir- 
cumstances. They  received  it  from  Gaspar — he  had 
not  laid  aside  his  costume — who  had  knelt  beside 
black  Melchior  and  Balthazar  before  their  common 
Lord.  After  this  these  joyful  people,  for  whom  the 
Star  had  now  for  the  first  time  risen  and  the  angels 
sung  of  good-will  to  men,  formed  a  procession  ; 
headed  by  Uncle  Zeb,  with  his  crown  on,  they  marched 
away  singing — 

"I'm  a  pilgrim,  and  I'm  a  stranger, 
I  can  tarry,  I  can  tarry  but  a  night ! " 


t$0  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Wcntworth,  Stringfield,  and  Leroy,  last  to  leave  the 
darkened  Barn,  stood  to  listen  as  the  chant  became 
fainter;  after  it  was  lost  an  occasional  "  glory  "  or 
"  hallelujah  "  was  wafted  back  through  the  mild  air. 

"  In  all  the  theaters  of  the  world,"  said  Wentworth, 
"  no  company  has  witnessed  scenes  so  beautiful  and 
elevating  as  those  which  these  humble  people  have 
seen  this  night." 

"  There  are  splendors  which  can  be  revealed  only 
to  babes,"  said  Stringfield,  pausing  to  listen  again— • 
the  procession  having  taken  some  turn  from  which  the 
refrain  was  faintly  heard  once  more — "  I  can  tarry,  I 
can  tarry  but  a  night." 

"  But  a  night,"  said  Stringfield,  turning  toward  the 
east  where  the  morning-star  stood  above  the  horizon; 
"  but  it  will  never  be  a  starless  night  in  Leroyland,  my 
miraculous  Yankee  !  " 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

SHADOWS    BENEATH    THE    DAWN. 

WHEN  Laurens  Leroy  descended  from  his  room 
on  Christmas  morning  he  found  Jacob  Corbin, 
overseer,  waiting  for  him,  with  an  ugly  look  on  his 
face. 

"  I  have  nine-niggers  set  down  for  Christmas  work," 
said  Corbin, "  five  of  them  for  nightwork  :  stealing, 
drunkenness,  insolence.  Butler  brought  me  your  order 
that  every  nigger  at  my  place  must  be  at  Selwood  Barn 
to-night." 

"  Well,  Corbin,  this  is  the  day  of  peace  and  good 
will  you  know;  and  we  have  something  at  the  Barn 
which  I  believe  will  improve  them  ;  so  I'll  be  glad  if 
you'll  overlook  their  offenses  this  time." 

"  Mr.  "Leroy,  it  will  never  do.  I  warned  them  all 
two  weeks  ago  what  they  would  get  Christmas  if  they 
didn't  behave;  yesterday  I  picked  out  these  nine.  I 
can't  shilly-shally  with  niggers— you  see  for  yourself, 
sir." 

"  Don't  get  warm,  Corbin.  Under  ordinary  circum- 
stances I  shouldn't  interfere,  for  very  likely  they'd  all 
get  drunk  to-night.  But  just  now  we  have  a  gentle- 
man here  who  has  taken  a  deal  of  trouble  and  expense 
to  get  up  some  elevating  exhibitions  for  the  negroes  ; 


192  PINE  AND   PALM. 

to-night  we  will  repeat  one  of  peculiar  and  religious 
importance,  and  I  should  be  sorry  to  have  any  one 
miss  it." 

"  I  haven't  been  to  the  shows  myself,  sir,  and  it's  not 
for  me  to  say  any  thing  against  them,  though  I  can't 
say  the  effect  on  the  niggers  seems  to  me  good. 
But  that's  none  of  my  business.  My  business  is  to 
keep  the  hands  at  my  place  in  order,  and  make  them 
do  their  duty  to  you;  and  I  can't  do  that  if  my  word 
isn't  stood  to." 

"  But  my  word  also  has  been  given,  and  I  must 
stand  by  it;  so  pray  tell  them  you'll  forgive  them  this 
time,  and  bid  them  come  with  the  others  to  the 
Barn." 

The  overseer  disappeared,  and  the  Leroys  hurried 
off  to  Wharton  Church.  There  Mr.  String-field  was 
surprised  by  a  marvelous  Christmas-gift — a  crowded 
negro-gallery  ! 

Some  little  time  after  his  interview  with  Corbin, 
Leroy  found  that  though  the  offending  negroes  had 
been  permitted  to  go  to  the  Barn,  they  had  been 
subsequently  flogged.  In  reply  to  his  inquiry  the 
overseer  explained  that  since  his  awards  ha*d  been 
overruled  the  negroes  generally  had  been  insolent,  and 
it  had  been  necessary  to  re-establish  his  authority  by 
showing  that  though  the  sentenced  negroes  had  been 
required  on  Christmas-night  by  their  owner,  for  their 
moral  improvement,  it  was  not  meant  that  they  should 
escape  punishment  altogether." 

"  But  I  did  request  that  they  should  be  forgiven." 

"  Niggers  can't  be  forgiven  on  a  plantation,  Mr. 
Leroy — not  without  overthrowing  authority.  The 


SHADOWS  BENEATH  THE  DAWN.          193 

impudent  rascals  have  been  laughing  at  me  ever  since 
that  day.  I  can't  stand  it,  and  it's  not  for  your  interest 
I  should." 

"  Well,  Corbin,  I  shall  take  no  further  notice  of  this 
particular  case,  though  I  don't  like  it.  We've  been 
going  on  a  certain  system  for  a  long  time,  but  I'm  not 
sure  it's  the  best.  Since  Mr.  Wentworth  has  been  here 
and  we've  been  giving  the  hands  a  little  entertain- 
ment, there  have  been  numerous  expressions  of  their 
kind  feeling  for  me  and  my  family.  If  you  would 
take  some  interest  in  these  things  perhaps  you  might 
find  a  better  spirit  prevailing  toward  yourself.  At 
any  rate  let  there  be  no  further  floggings  without 
extreme  necessity.  You  must  be  prepared  to  find  me 
more  careful  in  such  matters;  I've  got  some  new 
notions." 

"I  hope  they  are  good  ones,  sir,"  said  Corbin  with 
effort  at  a  smile,  which  turned  out  sardonic. 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Leroy  pleasantly,  as  he  mounted 
and  rode  off. 

"  That  gentleman  !  "  muttered  Corbin,  "  always 
'  that  gentleman/  " 

At  this  interview  there  had  been  a  third  party  invisi- 
bly present — the  slave.  The  negroes  did  not  like 
Corbin  ;  they  knew  there  had  been  an  issue  joined 
between  him  and  his  master  in  which  he  had  been 
given  a  taste  of  the  cup  he  made  bitter  for  them. 
They  assumed  that  Corbin  was  in  disgrace  and  treated 
him  with  a  contempt  which  he  could  only  meet  with 
the  lash.  Demoralization  prevailed  in  his  domain ; 
the  number  sent  to  the  whipping-post  was  so  large 
that  the  other  overseers  reported  to  Leroy  that  a  reign 


194  PINE  AND  PALM. 

of  terror  was  imminent.  Corbin's  authority  could  now 
be  recovered  only  by  a  large  measure  of  severity  from 
Leroy  himself ;  for  this  the  planter  was  in  no  mood, 
and  the  discharge  of  Corbin  became  a  necessity. 

The  humiliation  of  the  retributive  overseer  was 
regarded  by  the  negroes  not  merely  as  their  victory 
but  as  a  token  of  their  owner's  good-will.  Indeed  the 
other  overseers  impressed  that  view,  and  asked  the 
negroes,  when  inclined  to  be  lazy,  whether  they  felt  no 
gratitude  to  such  a  master.  The  effect  was  so  great 
that  "  Corbin's  Tract  "  ceased  to  be  regarded  as  a 
purgatorial  place,  Leroy  having  declared  that  in 
future  hands  drafted  for  disagreeable  service  should 
be  rewarded  by  some  extra  allowance  of  food  or  time 
for  rest.  There  was  no  urgency  about  appointing  a 
new  overseer.  Uncle  Zeb, — or  Balthazar  as  he  was 
beginning  to  be  called, — superintended  work  there, 
and  no  deficiency  was  threatened  in  the  supplies  from 
that  part  of  the  estate. 

On  the  other  hand  the  morale  of  the  discharged 
overseer  did  not  improve,  but  the  reverse  ;  he  became 
sullen  and  bitter,  nor  could  he  be  appeased  by  the 
pension  allowed  him  until  he  could  find  another  place. 
In  Wentworth  he  saw  the  cause  of  his  troubles. 
Until  "  that  gentleman  "  (that  Yankee,  interpolated 
Corbin),  came,  all  had  gone  on  well.  What  was  he 
poking  his  nose  about  here  for,  any  way  ?  Corbin  had 
been  shocked  by  the  rumors  about  the  Barn,  espe- 
cially that  the  planter  had  appeared  kneeling  between 
two  negroes.  He  was  convinced  that  this  Yankee  had 
gained  a  dangerous  influence  over  Leroy.  And  now, 
in  his  enforced  idleness,  Corbin  became  the  prey  of 


SNA  DO  WS  BENEA  TH  THE  DA  WN.     195 

that  special  satan  that  finds  mischief  for  active  minds 
with  unoccupied  hours. 

Every  thing  conveyed  from  the  Landing  had  to  pass 
under  Corbin's  notice,  while  he  was  overseer,  and  in 
this  way  he  had  observed,  and  copied  in  his  note-book, 
names  on  two  boxes  addressed  to  W.  Wentworth.  He 
now  referred  to  these  names — "  Dolland,  Scientific 
Instruments,  Winter  Street,  Boston;"  "Abrahams, 
Costumier,  Cornhill,  Boston."  The  only  other  name 
he  knew  in  Boston  was  that  of  a  certain  cotton  broker, 
and  gradually  the  purpose  grew  in  him  to  write  to 
this  man.  He  stated  that  an  individual  from  the 
North  had  come  to  their  plantation  under  suspicious 
circumstances,  gave  all  the  names  in  his  possession, 
and  begged  that  secrecy  might  be  observed  in  making 
inquiries. 

There  was  another  personage  on  Leroy  Island  who 
was  dissatisfied  with  proceedings  at  the  Barn, — namely, 
the  Rev.  Ezra  Harding.  He  was  a  preacher  difficult 
of  classification.  The  great  comet  of  1843  came  so 
near  the  earth  that  its  tail  turned  the  heads  of  some 
pious  people,  and  struck  many  of  the  impious  with 
terror  ;  this  being  especially  the  case  among  southern 
negroes,  who  passed  much  of  that  time  in  prayer- 
meetings.  While  the  panic  was  at  its  height  on  Leroy 
Island,  this  preacher  Harding,  generally  described  as 
a  "  Millerite,"  passed  through  the  Sea  Islands  prophe- 
sying the  immediate  end  of  the  world — which  the 
famous  William  Miller  had  fixed  for  that  same  year. 
Harding  had  an  immense  following  of  negroes,  and, 
when  the  comet  and  the  year  had  passed  without 
catastrophe,  enough  of  his  adherents  still  stuck  to  him 


196  PINE  AND  PALM. 

to  form  a  considerable  congregation.  Leroy  had 
given  them  the  use  of  a  deserted  meeting-house  called 
Ebenezer,  originally  built  for  the  Methodists,  not  far 
from  Wharton  Church.  He  was  a  fiery  but  not  unat- 
tractive preacher,  yet  was  steadily  distanced  by  Mr. 
Haswell,  the  negroes  having  a  pronounced  preference 
for  immersion,  which  Harding  denounced.  Ebenezer 
however  was  far  away  from  Bethel,  and  was  without 
rivalry  from  Wharton  Church,  which  had  never  been . 
attended  by  negroes. 

But  suddenly  there  was  a  change.  The  perform- 
ances at  the  Barn  had  made  Mr.  Stringfield  favorably 
known  among  the  negroes,  and  when  they  had  filled 
his  hitherto  empty  gallery  on  Christmas  he  spoke  to 
their  condition  so  pertinently  and  with  such  passionate 
eloquence  that  the  accession  was  maintained.  Sunday 
after  Sunday  when  he  came  the  gallery  was  crowded. 
But  the  fly  that  got  out  of  Mr.  Stringfield's  ointment  got 
into  that  of  Mr.  Harding.  The  crowded  gallery  at 
Wharton  Church  meant  thin  benches  at  Ebenezer. 
The  chief  white  patron  and  nearest  neighbor  of  Hard- 
ing was  Corbin,  who  now  had  ample  time  to  discuss  with 
him  affairs  at  the  Barn.  The  preacher's  soul  was 
filled  with  pious  horrors  intensified  by  vacancies  in  his 
chapel.  He  had  read  or  heard  that  the  theater  was 
main  door  to  the  Pit,  and  it  broke  on  his  mind  like 
another  comet  that  such  a  door  had  been  opened  on 
Leroy  Island.  Against  this  device  of  Belial  he  began 
to  rage  in  his  pulpit,  denouncing  a  certain  "  pretended 
preacher  of  the  Gospel  "  as  a  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing 
devouring  the  lambs.  The  zealous  man  learned  from 
Corbin  that  a  Yankee  "  living  on  the  Leroys  "  was  at 


SHADOWS  BENEATH    THE  DAWN.          197 

the  bottom  of  these  frightful  immoralities,  and  he 
resolved  to  seek  out  that  blind  guide  and  rebuke  him 
to  his  face. 

The  weekly  entertainments  at  the  Barn  had  not 
interfered  with  Wentworth's  services  to  the  school. 
Since  Stringfield  had  settled  at  Selwood  it  had  become 
the  custom  of  the  two  scholars  to  accompany  the 
children,  and  such  of  the  young  people  in  the  neigbor- 
hood  as  could  go  with  them,  on  long  walks,  during 
which  they  sometimes  paused  for  conversation  or 
instruction.  One  Saturday  the  talk  fell  on  popular 
superstitions.  A  lad  mentioned  that  u  Old  Joe  "  was 
said  to  have  been  seen  near  the  Barn.  Leroy  explained 
that  "  Old  Joe  "  was  a  phantom  surviving  from  a  negro 
of  that  name  who  lived  in  the  island  sixty  yeass  before. 
He  was  a  negro  of  extraordinary  intelligence,  and 
occult  powers  were  ascribed  to  him  by  colored  people. 
He  had  disappeared — probably  escaped  to  another 
country — but  the  negroes  believed  he  had  learned  how 
to  make  himself  invisible,  and  was  lurking  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. He  had  been  a  sort  of  preacher,  and  fam- 
ous for  speaking  at  funerals,  so  he  was  now  supposed 
to  appear  when  a  death  was  near.  If  living,  Old  Joe 
would  be  a  hundred  and  thirty  years  old.  The  com- 
pany talked  of  the  banshee  and  the  baying  dog, 
monitors  of  death  descended  from  Cerberus  at  the 
gate  of  Hades  ;  of  the  correspondence  of  "  Old  Joe  " 
with  undying  Barbarossa  and  the  Wandering  Jew  ; 
and  between  Wentworth  and  Stringfield  many  a 
fallacy  was  buried  that  day  in  the  grave  of  its  explana- 
tion. 

This  discussion  of  superstition  and  fanaticism  was 


198  PINE  AND  PALM. 

ended  by  a  salient  example.  Out  of  the  wood  rushed 
the  Rev.  Ezra  Harding  red  with  wrath.  He  first 
confronted  Wentworth,  charging  him  with  leading 
people  to  "  damnation,"  and,  when  Leroy  interposed, 
turned  his  vials  on  the  planter.  The  worst  of  these, 
however,  was  reserved  for  Stringfield.  Leroy  tried 
to  calm  the  man,  but  his  oil  was  fuel  to  the  flame. 
The  preacher's  language  became  so  outrageous  that, 
for  the  sake  of  the  frightened  children,  Leroy  brought 
it  to  a  full  stop. 

"  Mr.  Harding,  stop  just  here  !  Say  another  word 
and  you  never  preach  another  sermon  on  my  planta- 
tion ! " 

The  fanatic  turned  instantly  from  red  to  white,  and 
was  as  if  struck  dumb. 

"  Your  mind,"  said  Leroy,  "  has  been  filled  by 
somebody  with  lies  and  nonsense.  The  best  way  to 
get  rid  of  your  delusion  is  to  come  to  the  Barn  and 
see  what  you  are  ignorantly  denouncing." 

"  God  forbid  !  " 

"  Otherwise  you  may  be  led  to  say  from  your  pul- 
pit to  my  servants  what  you  have  said  here.  But 
understand  clearly  that,  while  you  are  free  to  preach 
your  doctrines  there,  Ebenezer  chapel  belongs  to  me, 
and  if  you  say  a  word  there  against  any  one  now 
before  you  it  will  be  in  your  last  sermon." 

Harding  trembled  but  answered  not  a  word  ;  pres- 
ently he  hurried  off  into  the  woods  again,  where  he 
had  left  his  horse.  He  rode  swiftly  to  the  house  of 
Corbin,  whom  he  found  reading  a  note  just  received 
from  J.  Summerberry,  the  Boston  cotton-broker  to 
whom  he  had  written.  "  I  have  instituted  inquiries," 


SHADOWS  BENEATH    THE  DAWN.  199 

wrote  the  broker,  "  concerning  the  man  Wentworth, 
to  whom  Abrahams  sent  goods  (supposed  to  be  dis- 
guises), and  find  he  is  a  dangerous  abolitionist.  He 
once  tried  to  kill  a  Virginia  gentleman  named  Sturline, 
and  no  doubt  is  up  to  mischief  on  your  plantation. 
Confidential." 

The  preacher  was  for  carrying  this  document  at 
oncetoLeroy,  but  Corbin  would  not  consent.  "They 
are  all  so  possessed  with  the  scoundrel,  they  wouldn't 
believe  a  word  against  him.  It  would  only  bring  us 
into  more  trouble.  We  must  wait  for  our  opportunity. 
You'd  better  be  cautious  about  your  preaching  too  ; 
the  niggers  will  repeat  what  you  say  and  Leroy  will 
always  do  what  he  says."  Corbin  then  informed 
Harding  that  he  had  obtained  a  position  on  a  rice 
plantation  near  Savannah,  and  must  carry  a  certificate 
of  honesty  and  competency  from  his  previous 
employer  ;  this  was  another  reason  for  his  not  wishing 
a  row  just  then.  But  he  desired  the  preacher  to 
keep  his  eyes  and  ears  open  and  let  him  know  every 
thing  that  should  happen.  He  hinted  that  it  might  be 
better  if  he  would  accept  Leroy's  proposal  and  go  to 
the  Barn,  and  "  act  friendly  ;  "  but  Harding  was  too 
irreconcilable  for  that.  Besides,  Baptist  Haswell  had 
countenanced  the  affair — a  plain  proof  of  its  wicked- 
ness. He  consented,  however,  to  express  to  Leroy 
some  apology  for  his  vehemence  in  the  woods,  and 
even  to  Wentworth,  on  Corbin's  suggestion  that  he 
might  "  learn  something "  in  such  interviews,  and 
render  more  secure  his  tenure  at  Ebenezer. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

GOING  FARTHER  AND  FARING    WORSE. 

AT  length  a  real  shadow  fell  on  Leroy  Island: 
Wentworth  announced  that  he  must  go.  This 
time,  instead  of  pleadings  and  manoeuvres,  silent  sor- 
row met  his  announcement  ;  for  all  felt  that  the  end 
had  inevitably  come.  He  had  remained  till  the  first 
breath  of  summer  surprised  him  ;  he  knew  that  the 
time  was  at  hand  when  planters  must  take  their  fami- 
lies to  the  seaside.  The  Leroys  would  have  had  him  go 
with  them,  stay  with  them  always  ;  he  knew  that  as 
well  as  the  mournful  company  he  was  about  to  leave. 
It  could  not  be  :  he  had  his  life  to  live,  and  it  could 
not  be  on  that  island. 

When  the  time  of  departure  came  Wentworth  dis- 
tributed among  these  loved  friends  all  he  had  brought, 
— his  lantern  to  Robert  Ravenel,  and  to  St.  Jean  the 
Hollis  Memoirs  lent  him  ;  to  St.  George  and  his  elder 
sisters  the  costumes  ;  to  the  children  books  ordered 
from  Boston  for  the  purpose  ;  and  suitable  souvenirs 
for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leroy.  It  seemed  to  them  all  like 
bequests  made  before  death.  He  in  turn  was  loaded 
with  presents.  On  the  occasion  of  his  last  appearance 
in  a  performance  at  the  Barn  he  was  surprised  by  a 
present  from  the  negroes,  who  had  put  together  their 
cents  and  got  Leroy  to  obtain  from  Charleston  a 


GOING  FARTHER  AND  FARING  WORSE.     201 

finely-bound  Family  Bible.  On  it  was  printed : 
"Walter  Wentworth,  from  the  servants  on  Leroy 
Island,  in  remembrance  of  what  he  has  done  for  them." 
The  venerable  Balthazar,  who  presented  this,  broke 
down  with  emotion  ;  and  Wentworth  could  only  falter 
out  his  reply,  at  last  clasping  the  volume,  kissing  it, 
and  shedding  tears  with  those  around  him.  One 
morning  Wentworth  did  not  appear  :  a  brief  and 
touching  note  was  found  in  his  room,  promising  that 
he  would  return  some  day. 

"  That  is  the  way  such  invisible  figures  as  '  Old 
Joe  '  are  formed,"  said  Stringfield,  when  the  school- 
walk  next  occurred.  "  Those  that  love  and  follow 
them,  and  they  themselves,  can  not  endure  a  parting  ; 
they  disappear,  leaving  the  soothing  promise  of 
return,  though  they  never  return.  Some  will  think 
they  see  the  dear  face  again  hovering  near  in 
twilight  or  moonlight,  especially  in  time  of  trouble, 
when  they  long  for  him.  Our  beloved  Went- 
worth has  gone.  He  will  do  his  duty  in  the  great 
world,  and  make  it  better,  as  he  has  made  us  and  our 
island  better.  Let  him  linger  among  us,  not  as  a 
phantom  but  a  reality — in  our  hearts,  leading  us  to 
imitate  his  strangely  beautiful  life,  and  to  continue 
the  pathetically  noble  work  he  has  begun  among  us." 

Wentworth  and  his  man  Wesley  had  driven  away 
with  the  horse  and  buggy  which  brought  them.  In 
the  note  found  in  his  room  he  said  these  would  be 
left  at  the  Landing,  as  he  wished  to  present  them  to 
Stringfield  and  his  sister.  On  the  road  he  was  met 
by  the  Rev.  Ezra  Harding.  The  preacher  had  apolo- 
gized to  Leroy,  and  two  days  before  had  learned  from 


202  PINE  AND  PALM. 

him  that  it  was  probable  Wentworth  would  leave  by 
the  next  boat.  Wentworth,  unconscious  that  he  was 
waylaid,  felt  touched  by  the  kindliness  now  manifested 
by  his  gainsayer,  and  freely  told  him  where  he  was 
going.  The  preacher  had  been  reduced  by  Corbin  to 
the  level  of  a  spy  :  he  expressed  apologies  to  Went- 
worth for  what  he  had  said  against  him  ;  but  took 
care  to  meet  the  letter-carrier  following,  and  send  on 
the  same  boat  with  Wentworth  a  letter,  with  penciled 
postscript,  to  Jacob  Corbin,  Hayne's  Mills,  near 
Savannah. 

Although  Corbin's  place  on  Leroy  Island  had  been 
a  purgatory  for  negroes,  for  himself  it  was  a  paradise 
compared  with  Hayne's  rice  swamp.  In  the  Yankee's 
absence  his  sins  were  visited  on  the  negroes,  but  Cor- 
bin did  not  forget  Wentworth.  He  had  not  long  to 
wait  for  his  revenge.  Soon  after  his  arrival  at  Savan- 
nah our  Bostonian  got  into  serious  trouble,  to  which 
Corbin  was  able  to  add  a  contribution.  A  Savannah 
paper  brought  to  Hayne's  Mills  this  startling  para- 
graph : — "  Abolitionists  at  work  in  Georgia. — An 
individual,  ascertained  to  be  a  Boston  lawyer  named 
Wentworth,  was  yesterday  charged  before  Justice 
Shelton  with  complicity  in  abducting  or  stealing  a 
negro  woman  belonging  to  John  Braxton,  Esq.,  of 
Thorpe  Hill.  The  case  was  adjourned  for  inquiries 
and  will  be  heard  on  Thursday.  The  magistrate 
expressed  regret  that  a  person  of  gentlemanly  appear- 
ance should  be  brought  before  him  on  such  a  charge." 

Corbin  easily  obtained  leave  of  absence  and  hastened , 
to  Savannah,  where  he  placed  his  letter  from  the  Bos- 
ton cotton-broker  at  the  disposal  of  the  prosecution. 


GOING  FARTHER  AND  FARING  WORSE.      203 

Soon  afterwards  he  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Went- 
worth  brought  to  the  court-house  through  a  mob 
clamoring  for  the  privilege  of  tarring  and  feathering 
"  the  damned  Yankee."  Corbin's  pent  wrath  broke 
loose. 

"  I  know  all  about  that  man/'  he  shouted  ;  "  he's 
been  at  his  work  among  the  niggers  in  Carolina." 

At  these  words  the  mob  gave  a  yell  and  a  dash,  drag- 
ging Wentworth  from  the  hands  of  the  two  frightened 
constables  as  they  were  ascending  the  court-house 
steps.  When  Corbin  saw  his  victim  in  the  grasp  of 
half-a-dozen  powerful  hands  the  blood  flew  to  his 
head  ;  he  aimed  a  vicious  blow  at  the  Yankee's  face, 
on  his  own  private  account.  The^blow  left  its  mark, 
however,  on  the  cheek-bone  of  the  judge,  who  at  that 
moment  leaped  from  the  door  and  stood  in  front  of 
the  prisoner. 

"  Cowards  !  "  cried  the  judge.  "  Mighty  brave 
southerners  you  are,  a  hundred  men  to  one  !  Officers, 
conduct  that  man  into  the  court-house,  and  if  any  one 
of  these  rowdies  interferes,  shoot  him." 

"  Judge  Lynch,"  like  the  cur  that  he  is,  recoiled 
before  the  eyes  of  Judge  Shelton,  and  Corbin  was  the 
said  cur's  tail,  for  his  fist  had  left  on  the  judge's  face 
an  ugly  bruise.  But  no  sooner  had  the  officers  entered, 
and  the  court-house  filled  to  its  utmost  capacity,  than 
another  mob  came  storming  along  the  streets,  and  an 
angry  clamor  surrounded  the  building  while  the  trial 
was  going  on.  Corbin,  uneasy  about  the  judge — who, 
however,  had  apparently  not  noticed  him — was  going 
off  ;  but  the  commonwealth's  attorney  met  him,  and 
insisted  on  his  return  to  support  the  information  he 


204  PINE  AND  PALM. 

had  previously  given.  This  popular  attorney,  unaware 
of  the  preceding  scene,  bowed  politely  to  the  mob  who 
cheered  him  as  he  passed  into  the  court-house. 

The  attorney  stated  to  the  court  that  the  prisoner 
had  stopped  at  a  tavern  called  "  Price's  "  on  the  big 
road  near  Thorpe  Hill,  the  previous  Friday ;  he 
brought  with  him  a  young  negro  man,  who  left 
Price's  the  same  evening  and  did  not  return  till  next 
morning  ;  when  the  two  went  off  together.  It  would 
be  proved  that  they  were  seen  that  Saturday  morning 
talking  in  the  field  with  the  woman  in  question.  The 
same  evening  the  prisoner  visited  Mr.  Braxton  and 
offered  to  purchase  the  woman,  but  was  told  she  was 
not  for  sale.  On  Sunday,  prisoner  attended  the  negro 
meeting — a  significant  fact.  That  night  the  negro  man 
left  Price's  and  can  not  be  found.  The  woman  also 
disappeared  that  night  and  can  not  be  found.  Dili- 
gent search  has  been  made,  but  no  trace  of  either  dis- 
covered. When  the  prisoner  was  arrested  fifty-nine 
dollars  were  found  on  him,  and  cards  showing  him  to 
be  one  Walter  Wentworth,  counselor  at  Boston. 
Whatever  doubt  might  have  been  felt  about  the  case 
had  been  largely  cleared  away  by  evidence  proving 
that  the  prisoner  is  well  known  in  the  North  as  a  dan- 
gerous abolitionist  who  once  made  an  attempt  on  a 
southern  gentleman's  life. 

While  Mr.  Braxton  was  giving  his  evidence  a  mes- 
senger came  from  Oglethorpe  Hotel  to  say  that  a  man 
named  WTentworth  had  stopped  there  a  single  day  of 
the  previous  week,  and  had  left  his  trunk,  also  a  pack- 
age containing  documents  and  money,  sealed  and 
deposited  in  the  hotel  safe.  An  officer  was  at  once 


GOING  FARTHER  AND  FARING   WORSE.       205 

sent,  with  keys  found  on  the  prisoner,  to  search  the 
trunk  and  bring  the  sealed  package  into  court. 

Wentworth  conducted  his  own  case,  and  asked  Mr. 
Braxton  if  he  had  explained  why  he  wished  to  buy 
the  woman. 

"  You  said  she  had  been  the  wife  of  your  servant/' 

"What  was  your  reply." 

"  That  I  knew  nothing  of  that,  and  believed  she  was 
now  in  the  family  way." 

Corbin  having  given  venomous  evidence,  Went- 
worth told  his  plain  story.  "  The  Summerberry  let- 
ter can  only  refer  to  a  ridiculous  'affair  of  honor,'  a 
miserable  misunderstanding  that  brought  me,  while 
at  college,  a  challenge  from  a  class-mate  ;  a  meeting 
never  occurred,  and  that  Virginian,  spelled  "  Stur- . 
line  "  by  Mr.  Summerberry,  is  the  best  friend  I  have 
in  the  world — namely  Randolph  Stirling." 

"  Son  of  Judge  Stirling  of  Virginia  ? "  asked  the 
justice. 

"  The  same.  It  is  through  that  friend,  whose  life  I 
am  said  to  have  attempted,  that  I  am  in  the  South 
now.  After  a  winter  in  South  Carolina,  I  came  to  visit 
Savannah,  in  pursuance  of  my  wish  to  know  more 
about  the  South.  I  went  to  Thorpe  Hill  because  my 
man  wished  to  see  his  wife,  from  whom  he  was  sepa- 
rated by  her  sale  in  Virginia  some  years  ago.  The 
man  reported  to  me  a  painful  story  about  his  wife,  into 
the  details  of  which  I  will  not  go  unless  required,  and 
from  sympathy  with  his  distress  I  tried  to  purchase 
the  woman.  I  suppose  it  was  in  despair,  after  my 
failure,  that  the  man  ran  off  with  his  wife.  By  that 
Mr,  Braxton  and  I  have  lost  our  servants.  I  do  not 


206  PINE  AND  PALM. 

see  why  I  may  not  as  plausibly  accuse  him  of  abduct- 
ing my  man  as  he  accuse  me  of  abducting  his  woman. 
If  your  Honor  finds  it  necessary  to  commit  me  on 
account  of  the  Summerberry  letter,  I  can  only  regret 
that  the  credit  of  the  court  and  of  myself  should  suffer 
by  an  imposition — which,  however,  can  easily  be 
exposed.  Otherwise,  and  assuming  that  it  is  no  crime 
for  a  Bostonian  to  visit  Savannah,  I  submit  to  your 
Honor  that  there  is  no  case  for  committal." 

"And  I  submit,  your  Honor,"  cried  the  prosecuting 
attorney,  leaping  to  his  feet,  "that  this  information 
from  Boston,  not  written  to  bear  on  this  case  but  provi- 
dentially fallen  into  our  hands,  reveals  the  remarkable 
coincidence  that  simultaneously  with  the  appearance 
among  us  of  a  '  dangerous  abolitionist '  is  the  disap- 
pearance of  a  valuable  slave.  I  observe  that  the  pris- 
oner has  not  ventured  to  repudiate  his  abolitionism. 
For  the  rest  his  ingenuity  does  credit  to  the  Boston 
bar,  but  it  doesn't  explain  the  facts.  Could  these  two 
negroes  have  vanished  so  swiftly  and  completely  had 
there  been  no  prearrangement  ?  Who  supplied  the 
money  ?  How  could  plans  be  laid  in  a  country  neigh- 
borhood without  connivance  of  this  very  peculiar  slave- 
holding  abolitionist?  I  submit,  sir,  that  the  prima 
facie  appearances  require  committal  for  trial — when 
we  may  know  something  more  about  this  man." 

"  I  confess,"  said  the  magistrate,  "  that  it  appears 
to  me  important  to  await  the  package  from  the  hotel. 
Meantime,  Mr.  Macnulty,  if  you  have  more  to  say  on 
the  facts  before  us  you  can  go  on." 

The  opportunity  for  a  stump  speech  was  tempting. 
Macnulty  was  just  describing  the  subtle  serpent  of 


GOING  FARTHER  AND  FARING  WORSE.       20? 

abolitionism  stealing  into  the  southern  paradise,  when 
the  officer  from  the  hotel  entered.  He  reported  that 
nothing  of  public  interest  was  found  in  the  prisoner's 
trunk.  The  sealed  package  was  handed  to  Justice 
Shelton,  and  a  letter  for  the  prisoner  which  had  just 
arrived.  The  magistrate  examined  the  contents  of 
the  package  carefully. 

"  God  bless  me,"  he  presently  exclaimed,  "  here's 
a  letter  to  me  !  "  The  crowded  court-room  grew  still 
while  the  justice  silently  read  this  letter, — pausing  now 
and  then  at  some  yell  from  the  increasing  mob  outside. 
At  length  he  spoke,  with  some  agitation. 

"  This  package  contains  letters  of  introduction  to 
eminent  southern  gentlemen,  and  one  to  myself  from 
one  of  the  first  planters  in  South  Carolina — which  I 
read  aloud.  *  Dear  Shelton, — The  gentleman  this 
introduces,  Mr.  Walter  Wentworth,  is  a  friend 
unspeakably  dear  to  us  all.  He  has  passed  some 
months  with  us  by  sheer  compulsion  ;  we  would  not 
let  him  go,  and  submit  at  last  only  on  promise  of  his 
return.  It  would  require  a  volume  to  tell  you  all  he 
has  done  for  us  on  this  estate, — for  our  school,  our 
negroes,  our  households.  He  goes  for  a  few  days  to 
Savannah,  which  never  had  a  more  cultured  and 
worthy  visitor,  as  you  will  certainly  realize  when  you 
know  him.'  A  few  words  follow  on  matters  not 
relating  to  the  prisoner.  There  is  another  letter  here 
to  a  gentleman  in  Savannah.  Mr.  Wentworth,  will 
you  inform  me  why  you  did  not  deliver  these  letters, 
or  refer  to  them  when  first  arraigned  before  me  ?  " 

"  I  meant  to  deliver  them  on  my  return  from  Thorpe 
Hill.  I  did  not  mention  them  when  arrested  because 


2oS  PINE  AND  PALM. 

I  could  not  run  the  risk  of  involving  the  name  of  any 
citizen  with  my  own  while  under  a  charge  likely  to 
excite  the  community." 

"The  prisoner  is  at  liberty  to  open  the  newly- 
arrived  letter  himself,"  said  the  justice. 

"  This  also,"  said  Wentworth,  after  a  glance,  "  is 
from  Leroy,  who  gave  me  the  letter  to  your  Honor. 
I  prefer  you  should  open  and  read  it." 

It  was  a  cordial  letter,  and  one  passage  caused  a 
sensation  in  the  court-room.  "  I  hear,"  wrote  Leroy, 
"  that  my  late  intractable  overseer,  Jacob  Corbin,  has 
preceded  you  to  Siivannah,  having  found  employment 
in  that  neighborhood.  I  hope  you  will  not  fall  in  his 
way,  for,  from  what  I  hear,  I  suspect  he  bears  you  a 
grudge,  and  would  not  be  sorry  to  do  you  a  mischief. 
I  have  not  put  any  body  in  his  place,  and  indeed 
doubt  I  shall  need  any  overseer  at  Corbin's  Tract 
except  foreman  Balthazar — you  remember  Uncle  Zeb, 
— for  my  hands  there  never  worked  so  well.  This  I 
owe  to  your  sojourn  with  us.  Come  back,  dear  friend 
— come  back  !  " 

"  After  this  evidence  of  character,  and  of  animus  on 
the  part  of  the  witness  Corbin,"  said  the  attorney, 
"  the  case  against  the  pris — against  Mr.  Wentworth — 
breaks  down.  I  withdraw  from  it,  with  your  Honor's 
permission." 

"  There  is  an  inclosed  letter,"  said  the  justice. 

"  Pray  open  and  read  that  also,"  said  Wentworth. 

"  It  is  signed  Richard  Stirling " 

"  Father  of  the  southerner  whose  life  I  am  said  to 
have  attempted." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  the  letter  began,  "  I  have  learned 


GOING  FARTHER  AND  FARING  WORSE.       209 

your  address  in  South  Carolina,  after  some  difficulty, 
and  write  to  entreat  that  you  will  visit  us  as  soon  as 
possible " 

"  Enough,"  said  the  justice  ;  "  there  is  no  need,  Mr. 
Wentworth,  to  read  more  of  your  correspondence. 
This  charge  is  dismissed.  Stop,  Mr.  Corbin,  you  have 
made  an  impression  on  me,  outside  this  court  and  in 
it.  Sheriff,  bring  that  witness  before  me  to-morrow. 
I  am  glad  you  have  withdrawn,  Mr.  Macnulty,  but  I 
can  not  think  it  would  be  even-handed  justice  merely 
to  discharge  this  gentleman,  and  turn  him  over  to  the 
perils  of  popular  excitement.  It  can  not  be  too  widely 
known  that  a  man  has  a  right  to  his  principles  about 
slavery,  or  any  thing  else,  if  he  does  not  injure  others 
or  break  the  law.  If  this  gentleman  holds  anti-slavery 
views,  it  is  the  more  to  his  credit  that  he  has  passed 
months  on  a  plantation  and  left  it  followed  by  the 
friendship  of  the  planter.  That  is  just  the  northern 
man  whom  the  South  should  honor,  and  I  deeply 
regret  that  Mr.  Wentworth  should  not  have  presented 
these  letters  last  week  ;  while  honoring  a  man  who 
preferred  going  to  gaol  rather  than  risk  placing  others 
in  an  unpopular  position.  Such  magnanimity  is  not 
so  common  as  to  pass  without  my  gratitude,  at  least. 
I  will  thank  you,  Mr.  Macnulty,  to  announce  to  the 
crowd  outside  that  the  accused  gentleman  is  proved 
entirely  innocent.  And  I  will  be  glad,  Mr.  Went- 
worth, if  you  will  presently  enter  my  carriage  and 
drive  with  me  home,  and  remain  my  guest  during  your 
stay  in  Savannah.  The  court  is  adjourned." 

The  mob,  enlightened  by  Macnulty,  cheered  the 
magistrate  anc{  bis  guest  when  they  appeared,  Before, 


210  PINE  AND  PALM. 

they  drove  off  Mr.  Braxton  came  up  and  expressed 
his  regret  at  the  mistake,  and  said  that  if  Wentworth 
would  visit  Thorpe  Hill  he  should  be  welcomed  as 
a  guest.  The  apology  was  politely  accepted,  and 
they  drove  on. 

"I  dare  not  thank  the  judge,"  said  Wentworth, 
"  but  may  say  that  you  were  mistaken  in  no  particular. 
The  negro  man  had  received  from  me  a  hundred  dol- 
lars which  I  thought  he  might  want  for  his  wife.  She 
had  been  compelled  by  an  overseer  to  yield  to  his  lust. 
My  man  prudently  concealed  from  me  his  plans.  I 
remember  now  that  he  got  from  me  the  address  of  a 
lawyer  in  Washington  with  whom  I  had  left  a  pro- 
vision for  his  freedom." 

"  It  is  wonderful  what  coincidences  meet  us  in  this 
world,"  said  Mr.  Shelton.  •'  Those  Stirlings  are  not 
unknown  to  me.  A  dissipated  brother  of  mine,  now 
dead,  married  a  beautiful  lady,  also  a  Shelton,  who 
had  to  separate  from  him.  They  were  then  living  on  a 
property  of  hers  in  northern  Virginia.  The  decree  of 
divorce  was  pronounced  by  Judge  Stirling.  My  sister- 
in-law's  troubles  brought  on  illness,  during  which  the 
Stirlings  kept  her  in  their  house.  By  their  aid  her 
property  was  satisfactorily  sold.  She  was  a  fine  artist 
and  traveled  abroad.  Then  she  settled  somewhere  in 
New  York  with  some  community  in  which  she  is  now 
a  kind  of  queen.  Young  Randolph  Stirling  once 
visited  her  there,  and  reported  that  she  was  happy,  but 
had  strange  enthusiasms.  Among  other  things  she 
wants  to  abolish  marriage.  Poor  Maria,  I  don't 
wonder  ! " 

The  carriage  presently  stopped  at  an  old-fashioned 


GOING  FARTHER  AND  FARING  WORSE.       211 

mansion,  where  Wentworth  was  kindly  received  by  a 
refined  family.  But  dark  care  had  begun  to  follow 
him.  In  the  solitude  of  his  room  he  read  Judge  Stir- 
ling's letter. 

"  My  dear  Sir, — I  have  learned  your  address  in 
South  Carolina  with  some  difficulty,  and  write  to 
entreat  that  you  will  visit  us  as  soon  as  possible,  as 
we  are  in  sore  trouble  about  our  dear  Randolph.  I 
know  of  no  one  so  likely  to  be  in  his  confidence  as 
yourself,  and  trust  you  will  help  us  to  discover  what 
has  befallen  him.  Some  time  since  one  James  Bounce, 
resident  in  Maryland,  inclosed  to  a  magistrate  of  our 
neighboring  town,  Warrenton,  my  son's  card,  bearing 
this  address,  saying  he  had  it  from  the  police  of  Peace- 
field,  Mass.,  while  there  to  recover  his  fugitive  slave. 
Bounce  asserts  that  it  was  subsequently  ascertained 
that  the  negro  was  assisted  in  his  escape  from  Peace- 
field  by  the  owner  of  this  card.  The  Warrenton 
magistrate  is  not  friendly  to  us,  and  the  information 
appeared  in  the  local  paper,  the  names  suppressed 
but  hinted.  There  being  some  excitement  in  the  com- 
munity, I  wrote  to  Randolph  for  an  explanation,  but 
grieve  to  say  that  his  reply — delayed  for  several  weeks 
— was  not  satisfactory.  I  have  no  doubt  that  Ran- 
dolph did  only  what  he  thought  honorable,  but  he  had 
evidently  been  mixed  up  in  the  affair  in  a  way  that 
would  not  be  tolerated  here.  He  said  tha.t  under  the 
circumstances  he  would  not  return  to  us  at  present. 
Heavy  as  were  the  tidings,  we  felt  that  this  course 
was  necessary.  I  sent  him  money,  and  asked  him  to 
meet  me  in  Washington.  A  mysterious  letter  came 
from  a  Mr.  Derby  Leigh,  of  Peacefield,  saying  that  my 


212  PINE  AND  PALM. 

son  had  been  ill  in  his  house,  but  had  left,  and  he 
would  forward  the  letter  when  his  address  was  dis- 
covered. I  did  not  again  hear  from  Randolph  till 
recently.  A  letter  came  from  Iowa  acknowledging 
receipt  of  the  money,  and  containing  the  astounding 
announcement  of  his  marriage  !  His  wife,  he  stated, 
is  the  daughter  of  a  hotel-keeper,  and  he  would  have 
married  her  in  any  case — false  gossip  having  connected 
her  injuriously  with  himself  because  of  a  service  she 
had  rendered  him — but  he  had  found  her  lovely  and 
lovable  in  herself,  and  was  happy.  This  is  appalling 
to  us.  We  can  not  help  fearing  ruin  of  the  hopes 
built  on  our  dear  Randolph.  We  know  not  what  to 
do.  We  know  not  where  he  is.  We  crave  your  counsel 
under  these  painful  circumstances. — I  am,  dear  Sir, 
your  obedient  servant,  RICHARD  STIRLING." 

It  was  to  be  a  long  time  before  Wentworth  could 
learn  what  had  really  happened  to  his  friend.  He 
could  not  even  imagine  the  name  of  the  woman  he  had 
married.  He  could  only  hasten  to  Virginia  and  to 
The  Palms. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"  TO  THE  RESCUE  OF  HER  HONOR,  MY  HEART  !  " 

QTIRLING,  whom  we  left  fallen,  but  in  pleasant- 
O  est  Peacefield  places,  speedily  recovered,  and 
thereafter  enjoyed  a  visit  at  the  home  of  the  Leighs. 
He  was  happy  to  find  the  Fratilein  well  established 
there.  Hilda  declared  she  would  never  part  with  her 
Mathilde  unless  to  the  romantic  Franz,  and  was  never 
weary  of  listening  to  the  Fraiilein's  folk-song  and 
folk-lore.  To  hear  her  tale  of  the  Pied  Piper  was  bet- 
ter than  to  read  it  in  Browning.  Mr.  Leigh  was  able 
to  add  to  the  southerner's  knowledge  of  northern 
institutions  and  ideas,  and  being  a  large  employer  of 
labor,  introduced  him  to  the  actual  conditions  of  free 
industry.  Randolph  and  Hilda  formed  their  friend- 
ship rather  on  the  brother-and-sisterly  lines,  but  there 
is  no  saying  what  it  might  have  developed  into  had 
the  youth's  visit  been  prolonged.  In  such  favorable 
propinquity  unsuspected  spells  are  woven  betweenfcnat- 
ures  too  like  for  sudden  love  affairs,  as  were  those  of 
Hilda  and  Stirling,  but  fate  easily  breaks  them  unless 
they  have  a  longer  time  to  mature  than  Atropos  per- 
mitted here.  When  Stirling  received  the  distressing 
letter  from  his  father,  telling  him  that  his  connection 
with  the  Peacefield  fugitive  slave  had  been  divulged 
at  home,  he  easily  made  Hilda  his  confidante  and  was 


214  PINE  AND  PALM. 

comforted  by  her  sympathy.  But  when  a  more  real 
calamity  came  upon  him  he  felt  that  he  must  face  it 
alone. 

He  was  preparing  to  leave  Peacefield  for  Cambridge, 
when  the  said  fate  spun  across  his  path  one  of  her 
small  threads  that  turn  to  chains  and  can  not  be 
broken.  Among  letters  forwarded  to  him  from  Cam- 
bridge was  a  dirty  one  from  White  River  Junction  in 
which  terrible  words  were  scrawled  : 

"  Mr.  Sturling,  Colleg,  Cambridg. 

"Sir,  It  aint  right  for  citty  an  colleg  gentles  to 
com  in  places  an  ruin  poor  girls  as  hav  no  mothers 
Nuela  Rhodes  is  gon  bad  an  ran  way  sence  you 
ruined  her  repetation  an  her  old  father  in  misry  an 
you  enjoyn  yorself  Its  mighty  mean  I  think." 

Stirling  tried  hard  to  regard  this  anonymous  note 
as  a  hoax,  but  the  bit  of  blotted  foolscap  had  a  fatal 
look  of  its  own  :  after  a  sleepless  night  he  made  what 
excuses  he  could,  answered  the  Leighs'  cordial  invita- 
tion with  a  promise  to  return  some  day,  and  was  soon 
speeding  along  a  road  already  haunted  with  tragical 
memories. 

The  proprietor  of  the  Green  Mountain  House, 
White  River  Junction,  was  surprised  and  delighted 
at  seeing  a  gentleman  entering  his  door.  His  hotel 
had  a  sublime  name,  but  sank  under  the  weight  of  it 
when  actually  entered.  Stirling  registered  his  name 
with  lawyer-like  illegibility,  entered  the  bar-room, 
called  for  beer,  and  began  casual  talk  with  the  bar- 
keeper. He  inquired  about  hotels  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  gradually  drew  the  conversation  around  to 
the  people  at  the  "  Junction  House,"  Alas,  the.re, 


TO    THE  RESCUE    OF  HER   HONOR.          215 

could  be  no  doubt  about  it  :  Nuella  had  disappeared. 
It  was  believed  by  some,  doubted  or  denied  by  a  few, 
that  her  flight  was  necessary  to  conceal  the  probable 
result  of  an  intrigue  with  some  student  who  had  been 
"  took  sick  at  the  hotel  and  staid  some  time." 

Late  at  night  Stirling  walked  through  a  chilling 
rain  to  the  restaurant  at  the  depot :  the  last  day-train 
had  passed,  the  porters  were  getting  what  sleep  they 
could  before  the  night-express  required  them  ;  only  a 
red  danger-signal  cast  light  upon  the  railway  track  on 
which,  full  of  dread,  he  passed  to  a  further  point,  to 
see  if  there  was  any  light  in  the  private  parlor  of  the 
darkened  Junction  House.  There  was  a  light ; 
approaching  closer  he  could  just  see  Manuel's  head, 
still  as  if  carved,  with  the  glow  of  firelight  on  his 
down-bent  face.  He  entered  a  back  door,  which  was 
not  locked,  moved  through  the  corridor  he  knew  so 
well,  and  knocked  at  the  little  room.  Manuel  opened 
the  door  wide  that  light  might  fall  on  the  form  before 
him ;  he  was  bewildered  for  a  few  moments,  but  at 
last  held  out  his  hand  and  burst  into  tears.  For  an 
instant  there  came  before  Stirling  the  vision  of  a 
daughter's  face  beside  the  gray  head,  but  that  face 
swiftly  grew  corpse-like  and  vanished. 

"  My  dear  old  friend,"  said  Stirling,  "I  have  come 
to  see  you  ;  if  possible  to  comfort  you.  Tell  me  all  !  " 

"  She  has  gone/'  cried  Manuel  piteously,  "  my  dear 
child  has  gone,  I  do  not  know  where." 

"  Your  sorrow  is  mine.  Do  try  and  tell  me  some- 
thing about  it  !  Why  has  she  gone  ?  You  and  Nuella 
once  did  me  a  great  service.  I  am  here  to  learn  if 
there  is  any  thing  I  can  do  for  you,  Trust  nie  \ " 


2l6  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  You  were  always  thankful  and  kind,  Mr.  Stirling, 
and  we  never  thought  of  you  but  as  a  true  and 
upright  gentleman.  I  will  tell  you  all  I  can, — but 
much  of  it  is  my  fears  and  suspicions,  and  mayn't 
be  true.  Before  you  ever  came  here  there  was  a  man 
named  John  Layman  who  had  been  courting  her.  She 
didn't  like  him  much, — for  one  thing,  he  is  ignorant, 
and  Nuella  is  educated  ;  but  he's  a  well-to-do  farmer 
and  most  people  thought  it  would  be  a  good  match. 
I  had  my  suspicions  that  his  eye  was  on  a  house  and 
farm  settled  on  Nuella  by  her  uncle  that's  dead.  But 
I  would  never  interfere  with  a  girl  in  such  things, 
unless  she  asked  me.  Nuella  didn't  seem  quite 
decided  until — " 

"Until?" 

"  Well,  you  want  the  truth,  sir.  After  you  staid 
here  Nuella  couldn't  endure  Layman,  and  when  he 
came  to  the  point  told  him  she  could  never  be  his 
wife.  That  made  him  very  mad,  as  she  told  me. 
Nuella  began  to  mope,  and  one  day,  when  I 
found  her  crying,  says  I  :  '  Child,  you  have  no 
mother,  your  brother  is  far  away,  Ruth  is  young, 
why  not  trust  your  old  father  ? '  The  girl  put  her 
arms  around  my  neck,  and  at  last  says  :  '  Father, 
I  feel  as  if  I  longed  for  somebody  who  can  never 
come,  and  I  sometimes  wish  for  one  of  those  con- 
vents, only  without  the  priests  and  errors  where  I 
could  bury  myself  for  awhile,  doing  some  kind 
of  work,  and  never  seeing  any  body  but  you  and 
Ruth,  or  people  needing  help.'  From  that  time  I 
devoted  myself  to  the  girl,  and  gradually  she  got 
jiiore  cheerful,  till  one  day  a  terrible  thing  hap- 


TO    THE  RESCUE   OF  HER  HONOR.          217 

pened.  Nuella  had  a  class  in  the  Sunday-school 
at  West  Lebanon,  some  of  the  nicest  children 
'round  here.  One  day  she  got  a  note  from  the 
superintendent,  saying  she  wasn't  wanted  there  any 
more.  It  was  awful.  When  I  went  to  ask  about 
it  the  superintendent  sent  me  to  the  minister,  Mr. 
Grace,  and  little  by  little  I  drew  it  out  of  him,  for 
he  hated  to  tell  me,  that  there  were  evil  reports 
about  Nuella — Oh,  think  of  it,  my  sweet  Nuella, 
pure  like  the  driven  snow  !  " 

"  Horrible  !  " 

"  Several  families  had  said  their  children  shouldn't 
go  to  the  Sunday-school  while  she  was  there.  Well 
I  tried  to  keep  back  the  facts  from  Nuella,  but  some- 
how she  found  out  there  were  stories  about  her.  Oh, 
sir,  she  couldn't  eat  or  sleep,  Ruth  was  nearly  as  bad, 
and  I  was  miserable  as  could  be.  I  went  to  minister 
Grace  again,  and  after  a  good  deal  of  talk  he  showed 
me  a  letter,  without  any  signature,  saying  he  had  kept 
it  back  to  save  my  feelings,  and  would  have  despised 
it  if  there  had  not  been  reports.  Here's  the  letter;  I've 
kept  it  in  my  pocket-book.  I  never  showed  it  to 
her." 

Stirling  at  once  recognized  the  handwriting  as  that 
of  the  anonymous  note  to  himself. 

"  Rev'd  Mr.  Grace,  Dr.  sir,  Nuella  Rhodes  ain't 
proper  person  to  mix  with  respectble  girls  and  teach 
sunday-school  every  body  knows  as  she  maks  too 
free  with  gentles  at  junctn.  House  !  " 

"  Do  you  know  who  wrote  this  ?  "  asked  Stirling. 

"  No,  but  have  my  suspicions  that  it  was  the  keeper 
of  a  small  hotel  here,  Tom  Benton,  who  has  a  grudge 


218  PINE  AND  PALM. 

because  we  get  the  most  custom.  His  is  the  Green 
Mountain  House.  I  got  two  or  three  notes  from  him 
before  he  came  here  ;  I  can't  find  them,  but  somehow 
when  I  saw  this  letter,  that  man's  face  rose  before  me." 

"  Let  me  keep  this  note  to-night.  And  now  tell  me 
about  her  going  away.'* 

"  Well,  things  went  worse.  Nobody  spoke  to  the 
girl  at  church,  and  same  in  the  street;  she  took  on  so, 
I  thought  I'd  leave  the  town,  though  the  business  is  . 
good.  One  day  she  asked  me  to  let  her  go  up  to 
Boston  to  see  her  aunt  Rhodes,  widow  of  my  brother, 
and  her  cousins.  They'd  always  wanted  her,  but  I 
didn't  encourage  it,  because  they  are  full  of  spirit- 
rapping  and  such  notions.  But  I  thought  a  change 
would  be  good.  After  she  had  been  there  some  days 
she  wrote  me  a  letter — it's  in  the  drawer  here." 

The  letter  was  full  of  affection;  it  gave  some  humor- 
ous account  of  spiritualistic  stances  in  her  aunt's 
house  ;  and  then  followed  a  passage  of  startling  sig- 
nificance to  Stirling,  who  read  it  silently: — "  On  Sun- 
day evening  we  all  went  to  a  little  hall  to  hear  a  lec- 
ture by  a  lady  from  New  York,  whose  name  is  Maria 
Shelton.  I  didn't  care  much  about  going,  but  when 
that  woman  appeared  it  was  like  a  star  shining  out. 
Such  a  voice!  such  deep  eyes!  she  was  like  Tennyson's 
Princess.  I  was  spellbound.  No  speaker  ever 
reached  my  soul  before.  I  found  out  where  she  was 
staying  and  went  to  see  her  alone.  It  has  made  me 
feel  happier  than  I  have  been  for  a  long  time.  I 
meant  to  come  home  Saturday,  but  shall  stay  over 
Sunday  to  hear  her  again.  And  now,  dear  father,  I 
have  a  favor  to  ask.  I  want  a  large  sum  of  money — 


TO  THE  RESCUE  OF  HER  HOXOR.     219 

a  thousand  dollars — raised  on  the  estate  uncle  left  me, 
and  sent  to  me  here  at  once.  You  know  I  am  careful 
about  money  and  do  not  spend  it  except  for  something 
important.  You  will  trust  me,  father,  whoever  does 
not.  Trust  me  to  the  end  !  " 

"I  never  saw  my  poor  child  again — Oh,  my  God!" 
Stirling   took  the  old   man's  hand,  and  waited  in 
silence  till  he  was  able  to  resume  his  narrative. 

"  On  the  Monday  when  we  expected  her  back 
this  letter  came — you  may  read  it." 

"  BELOVED  FATHER:— The  money  came  safe.  When 
I  last  wrote  I  meant  to  return  and  see  you  and  Ruth 
once  more  before  taking  the  step  on  which  I  have 
resolved.  But  I  can  not  bear  parting,  and  I  have 
resolved  to  live  no  longer  at  White  River  Junction. 
For  the  present  I  must  remain  entirely  apart.  My 
aunt  and  cousins  think  I  have  returned  home.  I  have 
made  my  arrangements  so  that  it  will  be  impossible  to 
trace  me,  and  I  entreat  you  not  to  try.  Do  not  adver- 
tise, if  you  love  me,  and  do  not  feel  alarmed.  I  shall 
not  harm  myself  nor  ever  do  any  thing  to  cause  you 
shame  for  me.  I  shall  be  where  kindness  will  sur- 
round me.  You  know  I  speak  truth.  Now  and  then 
I  will  write.  Farewell.  Your  loving  NUELLA." 

"  Have  you  received  any  other  letter  ?  " 

"Yes— this  note." 

"  Dear  father,"  said  this  note,  which  was  postmarked 
"  Boston  " — "  I  am  well,  and  happier  than  I  ever  hoped 
to  be  again.  Love  to  Ruth,  and  to  brother  Alfred 
when  you  write.  Your  NUELLA." 

"  One  thing  more,"  said  Stirling,  turning  pale,  "  do 


220  PINE  AND  PALM. 

you  think  Nuella  ever  heard  these  slanders  associated 
with  me  ? " 

"  Good  God  !  I  never  heard  of  that,"  exclaimed 
Manuel. 

Manuel  considered  this  startling  suggestion  for 
some  time  in  silence,  and  became  much  agitated. 

"  I  feel  pretty  certain  that  Nuella  never  told  me  all 
she  had  heard.  It's  just  like  John  Layman  to  be  sus- 
picious, and  he  was  hanging  round  a  good  deal  while 
you  was  here.  He  might  have  hinted  something  of 
that  kind  to  her.  Ah  !  No — I  can't  say." 

"  AVe'll  try  and  get  to  the  bottom  of  it,"  said  Stirling, 
rising.  "  And  now  I  must  bid  you  good-night  and 
leave." 

"  What,  not  stay  here  !  " 

"  I  were  afraid  of  breaking  in  on  you  suddenly,  and 
put  up  at  the  Green  Mountain.  I'll  come  in  the 
morning.  Keep  a  brave  heart  !  I  must  sleep  on  these 
letters." 

Stirling  kept  awake  on  the  letters,  and  next  morn- 
ing his  nerves  were  not  so  calm  as  they  should  have 
been  for  the  purpose  he  had  formed.  On  requesting 
an  interview  with  the  proprietor  of  the  hotel,Mr.Benton, 
he  found  him  eager  for  conversation.  Stirling 
inquired  about  the  town,  its  inhabitants,  the  price  of 
land,  meantime  measuring  his  man. 

"  How  many  hotels  are  there  in  the  place  ?  " 

"  Three — that  includes  a  small  house  across  the 
river." 

"  Which  is  the  largest  ?  " 

"  The  Junction  is  rather  the  biggest,  but  very  noisy 
if  a  man  wants  to  sleep." 


TO   THE  RESCUE  OF  tf£&  HONOK.  22 1 

"  But  for  that,  is  it  a  respectable  family  hotel  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  used  to  be  considered  respectable." 

"  But  isn't  so  now  ?  " 

"Well,  some  say  the  women  there  ain't  all  they 
should  be." 

"  It  looks  like  clearing  up,"  said  Stirling,  carelessly 
walking  to  the  window. 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  the  wind's  east  yet." 

"  Will  you  please  make  out  my  bill  ? " 

"  Dollar  and  a  half,  sir." 

"  Be  kind  enough  to  write  the  account  and  receipt 
it.  I'm  particular  about  such  things.  There's  pen, 
ink  and  paper." 

"  Let's  see,  what  name  ? " 

"  Mr.  Randolph." 

Benton  wrote  out  the  account  and  Stirling,  having 
handed  the  money,  scrutinized  the  paper. 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Benton,  I  have  a  heavier  account  to 
settle  with  you.  Certain  slanderous  letters,  affecting 
the  reputation  of  a  lady  in  the  place,  have  been  written 
by  you." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you're  driving  at,  stranger  ;  I 
haven't  slandered  any  body,  but  if  you  want  to  pick 
a  quarrel  you'll  find  you've  waked  up  the  wrong 
passenger." 

"  Here  are  two  notes  slandering  Miss  Rhodes  ; 
there  is  your  receipt  ;  they  are  in  the  same  handwrit- 
ing." 

"  And  what  if  they  are  ?  " 

"It  will  go  hard  with  you  unless  you  can  prove 
what  you  have  said.  I  am  that  lady's  friend  and  her 
lawyer.  There  is  no  use  in  getting  excited.  You 


222  PINE  AND  PALM. 

may  be  perfectly  certain  that  the  maker  of  that  charge 
will  either  prove  it  or  be  in  prison  this  day." 

"  It's  all  along  of  John  Layman,"  gasped  the  pallid 
wretch,  sinking  into  a  chair. 

"  I'm  not  surprised  to  hear  that,  and  if  you'll  now 
make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  perhaps  it  may  not  go  so 
hard  with  you." 

"  I'll  own  up,"  said  Benton,  wiping  the  sweat  from 
his  forehead,  "  for  I'm  miserable  enough  about  it.  I 
never  had  any  thing  against  the  girl,  but  I  did  hate 
her  father.  Layman  he  came  one  day  and  told  me 
the  girl  was  a  bad  'un,  and  she  had  gone  wrong  with 
a  college  man,  Mr. — " 

"  Stirling.     I'm  the  man." 

"  Good  Lord  !  " 

"  Go  an.     Here's  a  glass  of  water." 

"  Well,  sir,  he  tempted  me  like  the  devil,  did  Lay- 
man. He  said  he  couldn't  write,  and  if  I  would  write 
two  or  three  letters  for  him  it  would  drive  the 
Rhodeses  out  of  town,  and  he'd  help  me  get  the 
Junction  House.  I  didn't  misdoubt  what  he  said 
about  the  girl  was  true,  for  she'd  been  his  sweetheart. 
My  children  went  to  her  Sunday-school  and  I  didn't 
think  she  was  a  proper  person." 

"  How  many  such  letters  did  you  write  ? " 

"  Six  or  seven.  I  gave  them  to  him  and  don't  know 
who  he  sent  them  to." 

"  Does  that  include  this,  which  you  sent  to  me  at 
Cambridge  ? " 

"No.  That  was  wrote  after  the  girl  went  off. 
Fact  was,  I  felt  bad  and  sneaky  when  I  heard  she  was 


TO    THE  RESCUE   OF  HER  HONOR.          223 

gone.  I  thought  the  man  who  ruined  her  ought  to 
know  it  and  do  something." 

"  That  shows  you  have  some  little  conscience  left." 

"  Many  a  time  I'd  given  any  thing  if  I  hadn't  wrote 
them  letters." 

"  Why  did  Layman  say  he  wanted  to  injure  her?  " 

"  He  said  the  girl  wouldn't  have  him  and  he'd  found 
out  certain  that  the  reason  was  she  was  dead  in  love 
with  you  and  was  going  to  have  a " 

"  Stop  !  don't  speak  his  foul  words  about  that 
innocent  lady.  It's  all  a1  damnable  lie — a  venomous 
snake  and  a  greedy  pig  conspiring  to  ruin  an  angel. 
By  God,  it  shall  be  paid  for  !  " 

"  Oh,  sir,  what  will  be  done  to  me  ?  I'm  a  man  of 
family." 

"  So  is  Manuel  Rhodes.  However,  you  did  have 
some  pity  when  the  girl  had  fled,  and  if  you  want  to 
make  the  thing  as  easy  as  it  can  be  made  you'll  now 
help  me  undo  part  of  what  you  have  done.  Sit  down 
there  and  write  a  letter  to  Manuel  confessing  that,  at 
the  instigation  of  John  Layman,  you  wrote  slanderous 
letters  about  his  daughter,  and  beg  his  pardon.  That's 
your  only  chance." 

The  confession  received,  Stirling  learned  from  Ben- 
ton  that  Layman  generally  came  in  from  his  farm  to 
West  Lebanon  post-office  when  the  ten  o'clock  mail 
opened.  He  crossed  the  railway  bridge  with  a  lad 
who  could  point  out  the  man.  A  group  of  people 
were  waiting  at  the  door  of  the  office  when  Layman 
drove 'up  in  a  buggy.  Stirling  waited  until  the  stal- 
wart farmer  had  hitched  his  horse  to  a  paling,  and 
met  him  about  ten  yards  from  the  crowd. 


224  PINE  AXD  PALM. 

"  Is  your  name  John  Layman  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Some  vile  slanders  on  Miss  Rhodes  have  been 
tracked  to  you,  Mr.  Layman,  and  you  must  now 
answer  for  them.  My  name  is  Stirling,  a  man  you 
have  charged  with  ruining  an  innocent  woman." 

"  I  never  said  any  thing  about  you  at  all." 

"  You  lie  !  You  were  too  cowardly  to  put  it  into 
the  vile  letters  concocted  between  you  and  Benton, 
but  you  have  named  me." 

"  I  deny  it ;  and  if  there  ain't  any  thing  between  you 
and  her  you'd  better  mind  your  own  business." 

"  That  is  what  I  am  now  doing." 

"  I  didn't  write  any  letters." 

"  Then  you  are  ready  to  face  Benton  and  swear  you 
never  asked  him  to  write  any  letters  about  Miss 
Rhodes,  and  never  uttered  a  word  against  her  char- 
acter ? " 

"  I  may  have  said  what  I  heard." 

"  Tell  me  the  name  of  somebody  from  whom  you 
heard  any  such  thing." 

"  I  heard  several  people " 

"  Tell  me  one  !  " 

"  Don't  bully  me  !  " 

"  Tell  me  one  !  " 

"  The  girl's  a  notorious " 

The  sentence  was  never  completed.  How  easily 
may  civilized  man  relapse  through  the  centuries  that 
separate  him  from  the  faustreicht  of  his  forefathers, 
and,  invoking  majestic  Law  with  one  breath,  in  the 
next  knock  a  man  down  !  Layman's  large  form  lay 
prostrate;  and  Stirling,  with  a  constable's  hand  on 


TO    THE  RESCUE   OF  HER  HONOR.          22$ 

his  shoulder,  said  to  a  wondering  crowd — "  Gentle- 
men, that  reptile  slandered  a  lady  of  your  neighbor- 
hood ;  he  was  just  repeating  it  and  I  couldn't  help 
striking  him." 

Stirling  begged  to  be  taken  immediately  to  the 
magistrate,  and  sent  for  Manuel.  The  magistrate 
was  easily  persuaded  to  release  him  on  his  own  and 
Manuel's  recognizances,  and  the  two  recrossed  to  the 
Junction  House.  Stirling  advised  Manuel  to  show 
the  confession  to  the  minister,  Mr.  Grace,  and  consult 
him  about  every  step  he  should  take.  No  anger 
against  Benton  or  Layman  must  lead  him  to  any  mis- 
move.  Stirling  then  said  he  must  leave  but  would 
return,  and  left  an  address  through  which  he  might 
be  reached.  He  did  not  wish  to  buoy  up  Manuel 
with  hopes  that  might  fail,  and  did  not  tell  him  his 
immediate  purpose.  But  he  felt  lighter  at  heart  than 
the  circumstances  seemed  to  warrant,  and  both  Manuel 
and  Ruth  felt  their  cloud  lifting  a  little  before  the 
hopeful  look  in  his  face.  He  ate  a  hearty  dinner, 
gave  a  cheery  good-by  to  Manuel  and  Ruth,  and  was 
soon  on  his  journey  to  a  distant  retreat  in  New  York 
State  where,  four  years  before,  he  had  sought  out  his 
early  friend,  Maria  Shelton. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

BONHEUR. 

IN  the  dusk  of  the  following  day  Stirling  reached  -a 
remote  nook  in  New  York  State,  and  alighted  at 
a  "  crossing  "  where  few  trains  stopped.  Leaving  his 
trunk  at  the  depot,  whose  sole  occupants  were  an  old 
man  and  a  boy,  he  walked,  valise  in  hand,  to  the 
house,  a  few  hundred  yards  distant,  where  he  had 
found  Maria  Shelton  four  years  before.  He  remem- 
bered it  as  a  sort  of  summer  hotel  which  she  and  her 
friends  had  occupied.  He  now  found  it  vacant, 
barred  up,  deserted,  and  returned  to  the  depot — if  a 
small  shed  and  lamp-room  may  be  so  called — with 
misgivings.  He  met  the  man  and  boy  going  off,  and 
learned  that  the  people  who  last  occupied  the  house 
had  left  two  years  before  for  Bonheur, — a  settlement 
several  miles  away.  There  was  no  place  of  rest  nearer, 
no  conveyance  to  be  obtained,  and  Stirling  set  forth 
in  the  direction  pointed  out. 

The  road  was  new  and  rough,  and  through  lonely 
woods,  but  a  friendly  moon  arose  to  light  the  way- 
farer. He  had  leisure  to  review  the  situation  in  which 
he  found  himself.  If  indeed  Nuella  had  taken  refuge 
from  evil  tongues  with  Maria  Shelton,  what  should 
he  say,  and  how  act  ?  In  the  solemn  darkness  of  the 
forest,  picking  his  way  on  a  new  road,  its  stumps 


BONHEUR.  227 

scarce  revealed  by  the  moonlight  struggling  through 
a  roof  of  trees,  he  saw  phantom  faces  appear  and 
pass  :  Nuella's  face  now  beaming  with  the  happiness 
of  helping  him,  now  drooping  under  disgrace  incurred 
by  that  service  ;  his  father's  face  ;  the  faces  of  Gisela, 
Penelope,  pale  and  anxious ;  and  Hilda's  face,  which 
lingered  till  he  came  to  a  puzzling  fork.  "  I  will  fol- 
low my  light/'  he  concluded,  and  took  a  road  that 
opened  against  the  sky.  Emerging  presently  from 
the  wood,  he  saw  the  village-lights  in  the  vale  beneath. 
A  few  hundred  yards  further  he  met  a  figure  in  blowse 
and  broad  hat,  which  grew  mysterious  as  it  approached. 
Stirling  called  across  the  street,  into  which  the  road 
had  now  widened. 

"Will  you  tell  me,  sir,  if  this  is  Bonheur  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Do  you  know,  miss,  where  Mrs.  Shelton  lives  ? " 

"  I  will  guide  you  to  her  house." 

Stirling  begged  her  not  to  go  out  of  her  way,  but 
she  said  she  was  only  taking  a  stroll  in  the  moonlight. 
The  young  woman  in  trowsers,  and  skirt  reaching  to 
the  knees,  had  a  pleasant  voice  and  was  fair  ;  if  our 
traveler  had  not  suffered  so  many  sleepless  nights  he 
might  have  enjoyed  a  longer  walk.  She  told  him  as 
they  were  passing  the  small  white  houses,  all  newly 
built,  that  they  were  a  poor  and  happy  little  commun- 
ity ;  some  of  them  refugees  from  a  world  inharmoni- 
ous with  their  ideals  ;  others  having  come  for  the 
benefits  of  a  school  kept  by  a  fine  teacher  ;  but  most 
of  them  attracted  by  the  presence  of  "  the  grandest 
woman  on  earth, — whose  house  you  seek.  Here  it  is. 
Good-evening." 


228  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Stirling  stood  in  the  long  porch,  hesitating,  hand  on 
door-bell,  because  it  was  so  late  ;  but  he  heard  voices 
conversing  within,  and  rang.  A  gentleman  came  to 
the  door  and  invited  him  to  enter,  but  he  asked  to  see 
Mrs.  Shelton  at  the  door.  "  Tell  her,  quietly  please, 
that  some  one  would  speak  to  her  privately.  I  am  an 
old  friend,  but  prefer  you  should  not  mention  that." 
Maria  when  called  out  did  not  at  once  recognize  him, 
but  when  she  did  was  much  delighted.  She  was  about 
leading  him  into  the  room  where  the  others  were,  but 
he  paused. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  whom  I  will  meet.'1 

"  Only  Oscar  Murray,  who  opened  the  door,  Naboth 
Warriner,  our  patriarch,  and  my  adopted  daughter, 
Rhoda  Shelton." 

"  How  long  adopted  ?  " 

"  Come,  I  must  instruct  you  at  once  that  close  ques- 
tions about  people  are  not  asked  at  Bonheur,"  she 
said  merrily. 

"  I  need  not  ask.  I  know  who  she  is,  and  before  I 
meet  her  must  have  a  confidential  talk  with  you.  I 
have  traveled  far  to  find  her.  I  am  tired  and  hungry, 
but  can  not  rest  till  I  have  consulted  you." 

Maria  put  her  head  in  at  the  door  from  which  she 
had  come  and  bade  them  good-night,  as  an  old  friend 
had  arrived  and  she  must  take  care  of  him. 

"  Can  I  help  you  ?  "  said  a  voice  which  Stirling 
knew. 

"  Not  this  time,  daughter." 

Maria  led  Stirling  into  her  studio,  brought  him  sup- 
per, and  sat  down  before  him  with  wondering  eyes. 
Nueila  had  confided  to  this  woman,  who  had  capti- 


BON H EUR.  229 

vated  her,  nearly  every  thing  ;  had  told  her  of  the 
slanders  ;  but  the  deepest  secret  of  her  heart  she  had 
not  uttered.  Indeed  she  had  hardly  confessed  to  her- 
self the  love  which  Randolph  had  left  with  her. 
That  episode,  which  had  become  the  whole  volume  of 
her  life,  might  perhaps  have  been  discovered  by  Maria 
had  she  referred  to  her  own  acquaintance  with  the 
Stirlings,  but  she  had  never  had  any  occasion  to  do 
so,  and  now  first  learned  that  Nuella,  in  seeking  asy- 
lum with  her,  bore  in  her  breast  an  arrow  feathered 
by  its  love.  She  was  moved  by  Stirling's  narrative  to 
tears,  but  these  had  to  be  checked  by  anxious  thought 
for  the  morrow. 

Stirling  declared  that  marriage  was  the  only  solu- 
tion. Maria  urged  that  marriage  was  a  bad  thing  ; 
Stirling,  that  if  it  were  bad  as  homicide  it  were  better 
than  such  wrong  as  Nuella  suffered.  Maria  said 
Nuella  did  not  suffer  at  Bonheur,  where  she  was  a 
valued  teacher  in  their  school  ;  Stirling,  that  her  fam- 
ily were  in  disgrace  and,  knowing  this,  Nuella  could 
not  be  happy.  Maria  said  none  could  be  entirely 
happy,  but  Stirling  declared  that  his  own  life  would 
be  blighted  if  he  were  to  be  forever  attended  by  the 
phantoms  of  that  old  father  and  his  daughters — ruined 
by  the  man  they  saved. 

"But  may  it  not  add  to  Nuella's  wrongs  to  marry 
her  without  really  loving  her  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I  not  love  her  ?  I  do  love  her.  If  she 
is  not  now  the  lovely  girl  she  was  when  I  knew  her,  it 
is  on  my  account.  I  will  not  dissect  my  heart  to  dis- 
cover just  how  much  gratitude  there  is,  how  much 
love.  Enough  that  I  believe  she  can  not  be  happy 


230  PINE  AND  PALM. 

without  me,  and  know  I  can  not  be  happy  without 
her." 

"  Then,"  said  Maria,  yielding,  "  she  will  have  to  be 
deceived.  If  she  thinks  you  have  come  to  save  her 
reputation  by  marriage,  she  will  never  consent.  I 
know  her.  Another  thing  I  may  tell  you  :  Nuella  has 
supernatural  eyes  in  her  heart,  and  if  you  do  not  really 
love  her  there  will  be  no  use  in  saying  so." 

"  There  seems  to  be  no  help  for  it — she  must  not 
know  that  I  have  come  here  after  her.  My  visit 
must  be  to  you — meeting  her  a  happy  accident.  Can 
you  find  me  board  near  by  ?  " 

"  Not  while  I  have  a  house." 

"  If  I  stay  I  must  pay." 

"  Very  well,  and  I'll  send  the  money  to  pay  your 
father  for  keeping  me  in  his  house  two  or  three  months. 
Come,  Ran,  I'm  not  needy.  Go  to  bed  and  don't  appear 
till  twelve,  when  you've  got  to  be  astounded  at  meet- 
ing Nuella,  just  then  from  her  school." 

Maria  guided  her  old  friend  to  his  room.  As  she 
was  passing  out  of  the  door  she  turned  :  whether  it 
was  that  his  simple  "  good-night  "  revived  recollec- 
tions of  happy  days  at  The  Palms,  or  that  some 
feeling  about  his  mission  there  moved  her,  a  sudden 
emotion  overcame  Maria. 

"  O  you  great  heart  !  "  she  cried,  and  clasping  him 
in  her  arms  kissed  him  again  and  again. 

It  had  been  long  since  Stirling  had  known  such 
refreshing  slumber  as  he  now  enjoyed.  It  was  late  in 
the  morning  when  he  awoke,  and  for  a  serene  hour  he 
lay  tracing  the  fairy  forests  on  his  window  ;  memory 
and  imagination  sauntering  together  through  mimic 
landscapes  of  the  frost. 


BONHEUR.  231 

Maria  met  Nuella  at  the  door,  on  her  return  from 
the  morning  school,  and  led  her  into  the  breakfast- 
room,  where  a  plate  was  laid.  She  explained  that  a 
dear  friend  had  come  to  see  her,  son  of  a  judge  in 
whose  family  she  once  passed  some  time. 

"  He  visited  me  several  years  ago  when  we  first 
came  into  this  neighborhood." 

"  How  glad  you  must  be  ?  What  is  his  name  ? " 

"  Stirling.     What's  the  matter,  child  ?  " 

"  His  first  name  ?  " 

"Randolph." 

"  Oh,  hide  me  !  "  cried  Nuella,  sinking  on  the  floor 

Just  then  Stirling  entered  and  understood  what  ha'd 
occurred.  He  lifted  the  unconscious  form  to  a  sofa, 
and  sat  chafing  her  hands  until  the  pallor  passed 
away.  The  return  of  consciousness  was  signaled  with 
a  deep  blush,  and  from  beneath  each  closed  eyelid 
started  a  tear. 

"  Nuella,"  said  Stirling,  softly. 

"  It  is  you  indeed,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone,  looking 
up  to-  his  face. 

"  And  it  is  you,  my  dear  friend." 

"  No,  not  the  one  VQU  knew.  My  name  is  not 
Nuella." 

"  You  are  my  daughter,  now,"  said  Maria  ;  "  are 
you  better  ? " 

"  I  am  strong  enough,"  said  Nuella,  sitting  up  ; 
"  Mr.  Stirling,  I  am  sorry  to  have  met  you  with  a 
worry." 

"  Don't  think  that.  I  am  the  one  fated  to  worry 
people." 

She  turned  a  scrutinizing  glance  on  him,  but  it  was 


23 2  PINE  AND  PALM. 

he  who  learned  most  from  it  :  he  had  blundered  on 
the  fact  that  she  had  indeed  heard  his  name  connected 
with  the  slanders.  After  luncheon  Nuella  was  well, 
and,  as  she  had  no  afternoon  duty  at  school,  strategy 
had  to  begin  before  the  strategists  were  quite  prepared. 

"  I  will  go  to  my  room,  mother,"  said  Nuella — "  I 
have  found  a  mother  since  I  saw  you,  Mr.  Stirling — 
you  must  have  much  to  say  to  each  other." 

"  No,  don't  go,  Rhoda — he  has  nothing  to  say  to  me 
— that — that  you  may  not  hear." 

"  Three's  a  crowd.  Why,  he  must  have  traveled 
ever  so  far  to  see  you.  Where  did  you  come  from, 
Mr.  Stirling  ? " 

"  I  left  Peacefield,  Massachusetts,  a  few  days  ago, 
but  stopped  on  the  way." 

"  A  dreadful  journey — and  in  the  cold  !  You  are 
mistaken  for  once,  mother  ;  I  know  he  must  have  come 
on  important  business." 

"  He  has  come  to  spend  his  Christmas  at  Bonheur, 
and  we  must  all  be  as  merry  as  the  pious,  plunged  in  a 
gulf  of  dark  despair  and  dining  on  turkey  ;  -which 
reminds  me  that  I  have  directions  to  give  ;  no,  Nuella 
— I  must  be  the  Martha  this  time  ;  your  nerves  got 
the  shock,  and  you  two  must  chat  till  I  return." 

Since  Stirling  and  Nuella  had  parted  she  had,  in  a 
sense,  lived  ages,  but  they  had  not  aged  her  physic- 
ally ;  they  had  stolen  some  of  the  rich  color  from  her 
cheek,  and  from  the  mouth  some  of  its  dimpled  mirth- 
fulness  ;  but  the  childlike  voice  was  left,  and  the  brow 
retained  its  pure  repose.  To  Stirling  she  appeared 
more  beautiful  than  before  :  he  looked  into  this  face 
as  into  a  serene  evening  sky  overarching  a  horizon  of 


BONHEUR.  233 

shadows  ;  his  soul  stirred  with  the  hope  of  setting 
there  the  star  of  love. 

"  It  seems  long,  Nuella,  since  I  was  listening  to  your 
favorite  poems  in  the  little  parlor.  Do  you  remember 
how  we  roamed  with  '  Pippa  ? ' ' 

"  Unhappy  days  for  you,  but — " 

"  Were  you  about  to  say  they  were  not  unhappy  for 
you  ?  I  hope  so  ;  for  they  were  not  unhappy  for  me, 
and  I  should  be  glad  to  think  I  was  not  merely  a  bur- 
den to  you." 

"  I  have  had  unhappy  days — in  my  life — but  those 
appear  bright  when — I  saw  you  getting  well." 

"Nuella,"  said  Stirling,  in  a  merry  tone,  for  he  saw 
a  shadow  stealing  over  her  face,  "  doesn't  your  con- 
science confess  to  a  little  deception  on  that  night  when 
I  first  saw  you  ?  As  I  remember  you  somehow  made 
me  suppose  there  was  no  train  to  go  on  by  ;  and  also 
surprised  me  into  a  confession." 

"  How  can  I  recall  such  remote  antiquity  ?  And  if 
it's  true,  what's  a  woman  to  do  with  a  man  twice  her 
size  to  keep  from  some  mad  thing  or  other  ?" 

"  Just  what  the  big  man  ought  to  do  when  he  has  to 
keep  a  woman  from  harm — from  harming  herself  with- 
out knowing  it." 

"  What,  deceive  her  !  A  woman  should  never  be 
deceived." 

"  Only  men  ?  " 

"  Only  men." 

"  Deception  is  a  female  prerogative  ? " 

"  I  thought  every  body  knew  that.  You  must  learn 
your  a-b-c." 

"  Be  my  teacher  !  " 


234  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"Women  are  like  the  defenseless  little  creatures 
that  grow  to  be  like  twigs  and  leaves,  so  that  the  birds 
shall  not  notice  them." 

"  Isn't  that  dangerous  doctrine  ?  " 

"  It  is.  How  awful  must  tyranny  be,  when  its  vic- 
tims must  dissemble  for  truth's  own  sake  !  " 

"  Wome-n,  then,  love  truth  ?  " 

"  Too  much  to  let  it  be  trodden  into  falsehood." 

"  I  feel  flattered  that  you  cast  yours  before  me,  for, 
people  rarely  tell  the  truth  about  truth.  Every  body 
denounces  deception,  but  every  body  practices  it  in 
emergencies — some  selfishly,  making  deception  a  lie, 
some  honorably,  like  a  patriot  saving  his  country  by 
stratagem." 

"  How  profound  we  are  becoming !  Tell  me 
where  you  have  been,  and  what  you  have  been 
doing." 

"  The  way  is  paved  for  a  confession  :  I  have  lately 
been  a  living  deception,  a  walking  whopper  ;  I  have 
been  traveling  about  in  disguise." 

"  Now  you  arc  deceiving  me.     No  !  " 

While  Stirling  told  his  adventures  at  Spindleton,  his 
journey  with  the  Fraiilein,  the  slave's  escape,  the 
drive  with  Hilda,  his  wound  and  recovery,  she  listened 
like  a  Desdemona  to  her  hero. 

"  Now  prepare  yourself,  Mr.  Stirling  ;  I  have  one 
thousand  questions — " 

"  To  be  continued  in  our  next,"  said  Maria  enter- 
ing. "  The  table  must  be  set  for  prosaic  dinner,  and 
you  must  do  something  with  yourselves." 

"  I  am  to  set  the  table,"  said  Nuella. 

"  Not  to-day,"  urged  Maria, 


30NHEUR.  *35 

"  Leave  my  premises,  or  fear  the  vengeance  of  an 
angry  daughter  !  " 

"  Maria,"  said  Stirling  presently,  "  it's  going  to  be  a 
hard  matter  to  suppress  the  facts  ;  I  wonder  if  it's 
necessary  ? " 

"  I've  been  thinking  over  it  every  moment  since  you 
came.  My  conviction  is  that  if  you  should  marry  her, 
and  she  then  ever  suspected  that  you  came  here 
because  of  her  troubles,  a  tiny  worm  would  be  at  the 
core  of  her  joy,  and  it  would  decay  as  it  ripened." 

"  Mother,  may  I  speak  to  you  ?  "  said  Nuella,  at  the 
parlor  door,  which  she  closed  when  Maria  came  out 
to  her. 

"  Mother,  I  trust  you  have  not  told  Mr.  Stirling  of 
any  of  my.  troubles." 

"  Not  a  whisper." 

"  And  you  will  not  tell  him  ?  I  entreat  you." 

"  I  will  not,"  said  Maria,  re-entering  the  parlor. 

"  She  does  not  dream  yet  that  you  know  her  trouble," 
she  said,  "  and  has  just  entreated  me  not  to  tell  you. 
Nuella  is  as  if  on  the  brink  of  a  mental  consumption  ; 
you  must  act  as  a  physician  who  would  save  his 
patient  by  concealing  what  might  prove  fatal." 

Stirling  was  not  anxious  for  Nuella  to  get  through 
her  thousand  questions  ;  he  dreaded  to  have  their 
conversation  turn  upon  her  own  experiences.  But  he 
was  more  and  more  charmed  by  her  presence,  and  as 
she  devoted  her  mornings  to  the  school  he  longed  for 
a  lotus-land  where  it  is  always  afternoon.  This 
peripatetic  inquirer  was  too  deeply  absorbed  in  the 
personal  experience  through  which  he  was  passing  to 
make  the  most  of  his  opportunity  to  learn  more  about 


236  PINE  AND  PALM. 

northern  institutions,  but  he  listened  with  interest,  in 
the  long  evenings,  to  discussions  of  the  economic  and 
social  principles  represented  by  Bonheur.  Maria  held  a 
sort  of  salon,  assisted  by  Naboth  Warriner,  manager  of 
the  community,  Oscar  Murray,  a  retired  merchant,  and 
Thomas  Alden,  the  teacher,  her  receptions  being  on 
Wednesday  and  Sunday  evenings.  Naboth  explained 
to  him  their  economic  system, — that  time  is  money, 
an  hour's  labor  compensating  an  hour's  labor,  this 
being  modified  in  favor  of  disagreeable  labor,  and 
variable  with  corn.  Five  hours'  professional  service 
were  equivalent  to  eighty  pounds  of  corn,  but  the  corn 
could  be  had  for  a  less  time  of  drudgery.  The  social 
basis  of  Bonheur  was  "  individualism," — the  freedom 
of  each  to  think,  speak,  live,  without  any  limit,  save 
the  equal,  right  of  others,  to  their  genius.  Though 
few  of  them  might  have  heard  of  Thelema,  the  motto 
of  Rabelais'  Utopian  abbey  had  embodied  itself  in 
this  American  forest  village  :  Fats  ce  que  voudras. 
Whatever  Stirling  might  think  of  their  visions,  the 
visionaries  had  to  be  taken  seriously  :  they  were 
generally  thoughtful  and  high-minded  people.  Nor 
could  there  be  doubt  that  his  hours  with  Nuella  and 
Maria  would  be  found  under  par  if  measured  against 
the  superior  claims  of  '  disagreeable  occupation '  in 
Bonheur. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

CHRISTMAS    AT    BONHEUR. 

NO  bells  rang  in  the  Christmas  day  at  Bonheur. 
There  was  a  temple  in  the  place,  a  small  white 
parthenon,  but  no  regular  assemblages  in  it.  It  was 
always  open,  and  when  any  one  of  the  community  had 
something  to  say  there,  it  rested  on  such  to  send 
notice  to  every  house  and  to  build  fires  in  the  temple 
if  needed.  In  this  way  it  had  been  announced  that 
Maria  Shelton  would  speak  on  Christmas  morning. 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning,  the  air  so  still  and  clear 
that  the  sun  was  able  to  soften  the  heart  of  winter. 
Stirling  and  Nuella  started  out  early  enough  for  a  stroll 
through  the  village.  The  streets  were  presently  alive 
with  temple-goers  ;  or  one  might  say  variegated  with 
them,  for  "  do  what  thou  wilt  "  being  the  only  regula- 
tion in  dress,  the  figures  presented  the  picturesqueness 
of  a  masquerade.  Even  the  men  had  some  touches  of 
color  in  their  dress.  Some  of  the  ladies  had  antici- 
pated the  aesthetic  era,  but  their  skirts  were  generally 
short — of  every  degree  between  knee  and  ankle — the 
Turkish  or  other  trowsers  being  worn  by  some,  but 
the  majority  contenting  themselves  with  stockings  of 
various  shades.  There  could  not  be  the  slightest  sus- 
picion of  boldness  among  them  :  the  Arcadian  atmos- 


238  PINE  AND  PALM. 

phere  was  too  potent  over  the  secluded  land  for  Mrs. 
Grundy  to  invade  it  with  questions  of  propriety  in 
costume.  To  Stirling,  at  any  rate,  they  appeared  as 
happy  children  on  a  holiday,  and  he  was  afterwards 
surprised  to  recognize  in  the  seated  assembly  so  many 
gray  heads. 

Behind  the  lecture-desk  the  wall  was  hung  with 
pictures,  placed  there  for  the  occasion  by  Maria, 
which  were  examined  by  those  present  before  her 
arrival.  The  subjects  were  from  Palestine  and  chieffy 
scenes  in  Jerusalem,  some  of  them  painted  there  by 
Maria  herself.  In  the  center  was  a  fine  copy  of 
Filippo  Lippi's  "  Madonna  and  Child  in  the  Wood." 
No  woman  could  appear  worthier  to  stand  beside  the 
picture  than  Maria  Shelton,  who  presently  appeared 
before  her  audience  in  robe  of  purple  velvet,  and  with 
no  ornament  but  a  white  flower  at  her  breast. 

She  began  with  a  quietly  humorous  description  of 
her  arrival  in  Jerusalem;  the  discomfort  caused  by 
competition  for  making  her  comfortable;  the  guides 
denouncing  each  other  as  infidels,  Jews,  Moslems, 
apparently  the  only  species  of  crime  in  their  decalogue. 
Next  she  described  the  groping  amid  ruins  over 
ancient  streets  sunk  to  ruts,  leading  to  tombs  whose 
inscriptions  have  followed  into  eternal  silence  the 
memories  they  once  preserved.  Maria's  artist  face 
appeared  as  she  described  the  panorama  of  alternating 
antiquity  and  modern  splendor,  with  the  permanent 
figure  of  human  degradation  crouching  under  gilded 
walls  of  Christendom  as  once  under  palaces  of  the 
Pharaohs.  Reverently  and  tenderly  she  spoke  of 
prophets,  poets,  sages  ;  of  the  spiritual  flower  of  their 


CHRISTMAS  AT  BONHEUR.  239 

race,  whose  effort  to  save  the  poor  from  despair 
had  woven  a  halo  round  his  own  and  his  mother's 
head.  Her  voice  grew  passionate  as  she  pointed  to 
the  burial  of  that  sacred  city  under  ruins  of  time, 
under  more  ruinous  holy  wars  and  oppressions,  till  left 
with  ditches  heaped  with  blind  guides  and  their  fol- 
lowers— priestly  guides,  hating  each  other  even  more 
than  the  dragomans  whose  curses  compete  for  your 
guidance  to  Calvary.  The  Holy  City  was  then  made 
a  type  of  imperial  Christendom,  with  its  crumbled 
shrines,  its  moral  highways  buried  under  rubbish  of 
superstition,  its  great  souls  succeeded  by  selfish 
guides,  its  Saviour  dragged  down  to  be  the  patron  of 
each  vulgar  sectarian  shop,  on  which  one  seems  to 
read  "  Pope  &  Co.,"  or  "  Canterbury  &  Co.,"  or 
Calvin  &  Co.,"  "  Soul-savers  to  H.  R.  H.  the  Prince  of 
Peace."  The  old  shrines  broken,  the  old  streets  lost, 
the  guides  untrustworthy,  Christmas  tells  its  sweet 
tale  of  a  supernatural  Mother  and  Babe  to  a  generation 
that  keeps  watch  by  night,  but  sees  in  the  East  no 
pointing  star.  Now  must  each  turn  to  the  firmament 
within,  where  shines  the  star  of  love  and  thought. 
For  those  who  have  left  the  conventional  guides  to 
follow  that  inner  light  the  new  star  burns  through  the 
darkness  of  our  time,  and  guides  the  pilgrim  to  a  true 
Bethlehem.  And  may  it  not  be  here,  she  said,  even 
in  Bonheur,  veritably  as  in  the  past  ?  Behold  in  this 
old  picture  the  paternal  and  maternal  spirit  in  the 
universe  out  in  the  lonely  Wood  :  the  Voice  in  the 
Wilderness  is  there  also,  and  the  dove  of  peace.  In 
these  our  American  woods  the  ancient  miracle  is 
renewed  for  those  who  cease  to  seek  it  amid  ruins  of 


240  PINE  AND  PALM. 

the  past,  and  the  parasites  with  which  they  are  over- 
grown. 

Such  was  the  tenor  of  Maria's  Christmas  discourse; 
but  how  impossible  to  convey  the  charm  of  her  speech, 
and  how  unimaginable  the  beauty  of  the  woman 
transfigured  in  mild  enthusiasm  !  A  profound  silence 
followed  her  last  word,  the  audience  sitting  still  as  if 
loth  to  move.  Then  an  aged  woman  arose  and  cried 
— "  O  Maria  Shelton,  blessed  art  thou  for  the  sweet 
thoughts  thee  has  spoken  this  day  !  " 

"  Yes  !  "  cried  Thomas  Alden,  "the  oldest  of  us  are 
her  children,  and  we  rise  up  and  call  her  blessed." 

By  one  impulse  all  present  arose  and  stood  for  a 
few  moments  in  silence.  Maria  moved  forward  as  if 
about  to  speak,  but  there  was  only  the  faintest  move- 
ment on  her  lips.  She  bowed  low,  then  walked  from 
the  platform  and  disappeared  through  a  door  near  it. 

"  Friends  !  "  cried  a  voice  near  the  entrance.  It 
was  a  new  and  startling  voice,  though  not  loud,  and 
every  head  was  turned.  Was  this  an  eagle  trans- 
formed to  a  man  !  Tall  and  lank,  clothed  in  brown 
wool,  gray-bearded,  mouth  wide  and  thin,  nose  hooked, 
the  forehead  overshadowed  with  thicket  of  iron-gray 
hair,  the  eyes  steel-like  in  hue  and  glitter, — this  man 
was  one  to  command  attention. 

"  Friends,  I  am  a  pilgrim  to  your  woods,  I  am  a 
seeker  of  the  New  Jerusalem,  and  if  you  will  listen  to 
me  I  will  tell  you  where  that  holy  child  Jesus  is,  and 
where  Herod  is,  and  where  the  babes  are  massacred. 
My  name  is  Gideon, — Captain  Gideon, — and  I  beg 
madam,  the  lecturer,  that  I  may  be  heard." 

"  The  stranger  has  the  same  freedom  to  speak  here 


CHRISTMAS  AT  BONHEUR.  241 

as  ourselves,"  said  Maria,  who  had  reappeared  with 
cloak  and  bonnet. 

Those  who  hoped  to  hear  any  thing  about  the  Babe 
of  Bethlehem  were  disappointed.  For  any  thing  in 
this  captain's  address,  Christmas  might  as  well  never 
have  dawned  on  the  world.  The  negro  bondmen  of 
the  South  were  Jehovah's  people  ;  the  slaveholders 
were  taskmasters  to  be  overthrown  in  a  Red  Sea, — 
they  were  also  Cain  slaying  Abel,  and  particularly 
they  were  Midianites  whose  raids  on  Israel  this 
Gideon  had  been  punishing  in  Kansas  with  the  sword 
of  the  Lord.  Strong  as  was  this  eagle,  the  atmosphere 
of  the  temple  was  too  etherial  just  then  to  sustain  his 
wing.  After  a  few  minutes  of  Jehovistic  wrath  he 
fluttered  down  ;  but,  from  his  more  quiet  and  hesitat- 
ing harangue  that  followed,  a  pathetic  and  sometimes 
thrilling  story  was  gathered.  There  in  the  far  West 
slavery  was  trying  to  make  a  fair  land  into  its  own 
image.  On  every  acre  of  Kansas  it  meant  to 
set  up  an  auction-block  for  the  sale  of  men,  women 
and  children.  On  the  other  hand  a  small  band  of  the 
soldiers  of  liberty  were  there  to  die  rather  than 
the  great  crime  should  be  done.  The  captain  gave 
many  instances  of  the  wickedness  of  the  Missouri 
Midianites,  many  examples  of  the  righteousness — ter- 
ribly retributive — of  the  Free  State  men  ;  but  the  most 
impressive  and  touching  part  of  his  speech  was  that 
in  which  he  described  the  slaves  running  to  them, 
stretching  out  their  hands  for  deliverance.  In  con- 
clusion he  made  an  appeal  that  they  should  all  send 
some  contribution  to  the  Kansas  committee.  "For 
myself,"  he  said,  "my  life  is  consecrated  to  the  work 


242  PINE  AND  PALM. 

of  liberating  the  slave,  and  if  I  could  only  persuade 
one  soul  here  to  join  me  in  that  cause  of  Almighty 
God,  I  should  feel  that  he  has  sent  me  out  here  with 
a  message  to  that  soul." 

The  few  comments  made  on  his  address  must  have 
suggested  to  Captain  Gideon  that  he  was  somehow/ 
missent  to  Bonheur.  A  man  rose  up  to  say  that 
he  thought  the  southern  negroes  better  off  than  the 
same  race  in  the  north,  and  about  as  well  off  as  the- 
toiling  whites  ;  a  woman,  that  her  sex  was  enslaved, 
and  chanty  begins  at  home  ;  but  the  severest  trial  for1 
the  captain  was  a  speech  maintaining  that  the  Bible 
was  on  the  side  of  the  slaveholder. 

One  person,  however,  had  been  deeply  moved  by 
the  captain's  speech, — Nuella.  As  the  people  were 
moving  away  she  desired  Stirling  to  accompany  her  in 
approaching  the  old  man,  who  was  walking  off  with 
bent  head,  and  an  appearance  of  dejection.  He 
started  at  hearing  his  name. 

"  Here  is  a  lady  who  wishes  to  speak  to  you,"  said 
Stirling. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  madam,"  said  the  captain  with  a 
polite  bow. 

"I  wish  to  ask  if  you  have  ever  met  a  man  in 
Kansas  named  Alfred  Rhodes  ?  " 

"  I  know  him  well.  There  isn't  a  better  man  out 
there  than  Colonel  Rhodes." 

"  Was  he  well  when  you  last  saw  him  ? " 

"  Perfectly.  He  has  a  fine  claim  out  there,— a  first- 
•rate  piece  of  land  is  Rhodes's— and  the  ruffians  would 
be  glad  to  get  hold  of  him  and  his  place  ;  but  they've 
got  their  match.  He  has  one  qr  two  neighbors  neaj 


CHRISTMAS  AT  BONHEUR.  243 

his  cabin  with  families,  but  isn't  married  him- 
self." 

"  He  is  my — relation.  I  hope,"  said  Nuella,  with  a 
candid  blush,  "  that  you  will  feel  that  many  hearts  are 
with  you  in  your  brave  work,  though  their  hands  are 
too  weak  to  help.  I  was  interested  in  your  address 
to-day — more  than  I  can  express.  Good-by  !  " 

In  the  afternoon  Nuella  and  Stirling  took  a  walk  in 
the  woods.  Their  conversation  naturally  turned  on 
the  addresses  in  the  temple. 

"  Bonheur  is  an  open  secret,"  said  Stirling.  "  Naboth 
may  say  what  he  will  about  standards  of  value,  but 
the  basis  of  the  community  is  a  great-brained  woman." 

"  Listening  to  her  to-day  I  was  at  times  in  a  trance, 
and  as  if  beholding  angels  descending  on  a  ladder." 

"  For  me,  I  remembered  the  saying  of  Socrates' 
young  friend,  that  to  listen  to  his  discourse  was  a 
sufficient  end  of  life." 

"  You  luxurious  man  !     Ah,  Mr.  Stirling " 

"  Well,  Miss  Rhodes," 

"  Why  Miss  ? " 

"Why  Mister?" 

"  I  don't  believe  I  could  say  simple  Randolph, 
You'll  have  to  give  me  a  day  or  two  to  try  it  over  by 
myself." 

"  After  to-morrow  it  must  be  Mister  no  more.  What 
were  you  about  to  say  ? " 

"  I've  forgotten." 

"You  said  it  was  luxurious  to  want  to  listen  to 
Maria  for  the  rest  of  life." 

"  The  rest  of  life  !  The  words  have  two  meanings. 
Most  of  those  in  the  village  have  come  from  tempests. 


244  PINE  AND  PALM. 

clinging  to  fragments  of  their  wreck,  and  found  rest 
on  Maria's  heart ;  but  you,  starting  out  on  a  fair  sea, 
how  could  you  dream  of  rest  in  poor  little  Bonheur  ? 
You  visit  your  southern  friend,  depart,  and  if  you 
remember  us  it  will  be  with  a  smile." 

"  I  may  be  more  of  a  waif  than  you  think.  What 
does  each  know  of  the  other  ?  Many  a  Bonheureuse 
believes  she  alone  knows  real  trouble." 

"  It's  not  mere  trouble  that  makes  people  leave  the 
great  world  for  a  convent,  or  a  place  like  Bonheur. 
The  heart  is  born  for  an  unbounded  world,  and  if  it 
turns  away  from  it  the  motive  is  either  religious,  think- 
ing to  find  the  gate  to  a  boundless  world,  or  some- 
thing that  renders  life  with  mankind  impossible.  Not 
even  the  charm  of  Maria  could  give  rest  to  one  flying 
from  a  vocation  in  the  world." 

"  How  long  do  you  expect  to  remain  in  Bonheur  ? " 

"  During  its  life  or  mine." 

"  Then  you  are  happy  here." 

"  I  would  be  happier  with  more  to  do." 

There  was  a  hopelessness  in  Nuella's  tone,  rather 
than  in  her  words,  that  weighed  on  Stirling's  heart  ; 
he  found  nothing  to  say,  and  they  walked  in  silence 
till  Nuella  felt  that  she  had  been  making  their  walk  too 
gloomy. 

"  Mr.  Stirling " 

"  Oh  !  " 

"  Mr.  Randolph,  then  !  " 

"  Better." 

"  I  haven't  asked  half  my  questions  yet." 

"  You  said  a  thousand,  and  have  asked  nine  hun- 
$red  and  ninety-nine,  I've  counted/' 


CHRISTMAS  AT  BONHEUR.  245 

"  Tell  me  more  of  that  Lady  Hilda,  who  put  on  the 
negro's  clothes.  That's  a  woman  !  Maria  would  do 
a  thing  like  that." 

"  So  would  you." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  really  ?  I  have  dreams  of  brave 
free  action,  rising  above  custom,  ignoring  sex — like 
Lady  Godiva — to  strike  some  stroke  for  justice.  It 
would  be  glorious  to  do  as  your  Hilda  did,  on  the 
moment,  so  absorbed  in  the  duty  before  her  that  ques- 
tions of  clothes,  of  what  people  may  say,  of  conse- 
quences to  herself,  could  never  even  occur  to  her  ! " 

"  It  was  indeed  sublime  to  see  her  blackened,  and 
in  the  coarse  clothing  of  a  slave.  Were  I  an  artist  I 
would  paint  the  picture." 

"  I  suppose  she  watched  over  you  after  you  were 
wounded.  When  are  you  to  be  marrried  ?  " 

"  Nuella,  does  it  always  follow  that  when  one  is 
watched  over  and  helped  through  illness  by — but 
there,  I  will  be  merciful.  No  ;  her  uncle  was  a  doc- 
tor and  took  me  to  his  own  house.  Afterwards  I  saw 
a  good  deal  of  Hilda,  but  we  didn't  fall  in  love.  Per- 
haps she  was  too  happy  in  her  home  ;  perhaps  I  was 
too — too " 

"  Too  what  ?  " 

"I  suppose  there  are  mysterious  conditions  for  love 
as  for  diamonds  ;  all  the  elements  may  be  brought 
together  in  right  proportions,  but  the  gem  doesn't 
flash  out." 

"  You  know  all  about  it,  Mr. — Randolph.  You've 
been  In  love." 

"  I  have  not  been,  I  am  in  love/' 

Just   then   fate   put  in  a  word.     Hearing  a   step 


246  PINE  AND  PALM. 

behind  them  they  turned  and  saw  Captain  Gideon 
approaching,  bag  in  hand,  on  his  way  to  the  station. 

"  I  hope,  young  lady,"  he  said,  after  shaking  hands 
with  both,  "  that  your  heart  is  as  good  as  your  face, 
and  that  you  will  encourage  this  young  man  to  serve  the 
right,  like  Colonel  Rhodes.  I  do  not  know  what  you 
are  to  each  other.  I  pray  God  to  bless  you  both  and 
lead  you  to  set  about  his  work.  Do  not  let  earthly 
affections  draw  you  from  God's  work.  There  are 
great  wrongs  to  be  righted.  Woe  to  them  that  lead 
lives  of  ease  when  God  is  calling  for  helpers  !  Blessed 
are  they  that  lose  their  lives  for  his  sake  !  But  I 
can  not  tarry.  Farewell  !  " 

Their  eyes  followed  the  captain's  gaunt  figure  until 
it  disappeared. 

"  What  a  strange  man  !  "  said  Nuella. 

"  Strange  indeed  ;  he  strikes  me  as  suffering  a  sort 
of  sane  insanity." 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  while  he  was  pleading 
about  Kansas  a  longing  to  go  there  came  over  me  ?  I 
felt  that  perhaps  the  service  of  life  might  be  found 
there,  if  not  its  happiness.  He  must  have  mesmerized 
me  ;  if  he  had  come  to  me  and  said,  '  Rise  and  go 
with  me,'  I  might  have  followed  him." 

"  I  suppose  the  face  of  your  brother — I  supposed  it 
was  a  brother  you  asked  about — rose  before  you.  But, 
Nuella,  it  pains  me  to  hear  you  talk  in  that  tone,  about 
finding  your  life's  service  without  its  happiness.  Is 
it  not  morbid  ? " 

"  Pejhaps — partly.  Yet  I  should  like  to  go  where 
I  could  bind  up  wounds,  or  help  poor  negroes  flying 
£rom  pursuers,  and  minister  to  brave  men  defending 


CHRISTMAS  AT  BONHEUR.  247 

liberty.  Yes  !  "  her  eyes  flashed,  "  I  should  like  to  go 
with  that  man  !  " 

"  Nuella,  go  with  me  !  " 

"  What  did  you  say  ? " 

"  Go  with  me  !  " 

They  were  the  eyes  of  a  child  that  turned  to  those 
of  Stirling,  but  the  eyes  of  a  woman  that  started  at 
what  she  read  there, — then  drooped  toward  the 
earth. 

"  You  have  taken  me  at  my  word  suddenly/'  she 
said,  trying  to  speak  lightly  ;  "  going  to  Kansas  is  a 
serious  business." 

"  Perhaps  you  mean  going  with  me  is  a  serious  bus- 
iness. It  is  even  so  ;  to  me  infinitely  more  serious 
than  going  anywhere.  Nuella,  wherever  you  go,  go 
with  me  !  Nuella,  I  love  you  ;  where  you  go  I  will 
go  ;  we  must  part  no  more." 

Nuella  stood  speechless,  gazing  on  the  dead  leaves, — 
only  a  faint  last  autumnal  tint  discernible  on  them 
here  and  there.  Light  snowflakes  were  beginning  to 
fall ;  nature  would  weep  for  her,  and  for  this  love  that 
came  too  late,  though  the  tears  were  frozen.  At  length 
her  eyes,  tearless  but  full  of  pain,  turned  piteously  to 
him. 

"  Randolph,  true  and  good  as  ever,  come  close,  for 
once  let  me  clasp  you  to  my  heart — for  once,  my  Ran- 
dolph!" 

"  For  once  and  forever." 

"  For  once  and  for  the  last  time,"  she  said,  trem- 
bling in  his  arms. 

"  No,  Nuella,  no  !  " 

"  Yes, — we  must  part,  *   I  can  not  be  your  wife. 


248  PINE  AND  PALM. 

though  love  for  you  has  long  been  the  secret  of  my 
life." 

"  Nuella,  my  love,  what  is  this  ?" 

"  It  is  as  I  have  said.  It  is  not  much  I  could  have 
brought  the  man  I  love,  only  my  devotion  ;  but  one 
thing  I  would  have  to  bring  him,  and  that  I  now  can 
not — an  untarnished  name." 

As  Nuella  said  this  she  disengaged  herself  quietly 
from  his  arms  and  stood  apart,  as  if  the  abyss  were 
already  yawning  between  them.  The  youth's  whole 
nature  flowed  out  to  this  womanly  soul,  standing  there 
the  martyr  of  love  and  innocence.  He.  stretched 
forth  his  hands,  but  she  did  not  come  ;  her  resolution 
fixed  her  apart,  as  if  a  statue  in  which  the  eyes  alone 
were  alive. 

"  Nuella,  this  is  all  some  miserable  mistake  ;  what 
is  any  silly  gossip  to  me  if  I  have  the  wife  I  love,  and 
know  her  to  be  pure  and  true  ? " 

"  It  is  noble  to  say  that,  it  is  like  you,  but  your  honor 
is  dearer  to  me  than  your  love.  You  must  now  hear 
all,  hard  as  it  is  to  tell.  Malicious  tongues  have 
accused  me  of  unchaste  conduct,  our  family  has  been 
publicly  disgraced,  and  we  are  defenseless  against  the 
slanders.  The  disgrace  is  ineffaceable,  and  I  am  hid- 
ing at  Bonheur." 

"  You  shall  find  honor  and  protection  in  your  own 
home,  and  at  my  side,"  cried  Stirling,  starting  for- 
ward. 

"  Impossible,"  said  Nuella,  waving  him  back. 

"  Now  see,  Nuella, — we  happen  to  be  in  the  same 
case.  I  also  am  in  disgrace  at  home.  I  am  unable  to 
yeturn  there  because  I  helped  a  fugitive  slave.  I  arn 


CHRISTMAS  AT  BONHEUR.  249 

disgraced  for  something  I  did,  you  for  what  you 
never  did.  If  nevertheless  I  long  to  make  you  my 
wife,  to  have  you  share  my  disgrace,  why  should  you 
not  let  me  share  yours  ?  " 

"  It  is  different.  You  are  accused  of  what  in  my 
eyes  is  to  your  honor." 

"  And  you,  Nueila,  is  not  your  accusation  based  on 
something  that  in  my  eyes  would  be  to  your  honor  ? 
It  can  not  be  that  malice  could  fasten  on  you  without 
some  fact  to  pervert,  and  I  know  that  fact  would  be 
something  worthy  of  the  woman  I  love — Nueila,  you 
do  not  answer.  I  entreat  you  in  pity,  tell  me  that. 
There  was  something,  and  I  swear,  before  you  speak, 
you  were  slandered  for  what  would  make  me  proud 
of  you." 

"  I  am  frightened.  I  fear  your  reasoning.  Be  mer- 
ciful— never  let  me  lower  the  man  I  love  in  the  eyes 
of  those  to  whom  his  name  belongs.  No,  Randolph, 
never  can  I  be  your  wife.  The  air  grows  bitter — this 
snow  stings.  Let  us  go  back  to  Bonheur."  She 
started,  but  he  held  her  by  the  arm. 

"  Speak  out  like  your  frank  self,  my  Nueila — be 
bold  as  your  innocence.  You  say  you  have  loved  me  ; 
was  not  your  secret  known  ?  did  it  not  turn  some  jeal- 
ous man  into  your  enemy  ?  " 

"  Let  us  return — the  snow  is  thickening." 

u  Nueila,  Nueila,  I  entreat  an  answer." 

"  I  am  not  able,  I  can  only  obey  my  heart — it  says, 
beware  !  "  Now  her  tears  began  to  flow,  and  he  caught 
her  in  his  arms  again. 

"  You  have  been  suffering,  my  sweet.  Let  the  snow 
fall — you  are  in  your  shelter.  In  some  way  your  love 


250  PINE  AND  PALM. 

has  brought  on  your  troubles  ;  then  I  have  the  right 
to  help  you  bear  them — and  I  will." 

"  Never  !  " 

"  When  you  can  think  of  it  calmly  you  will  see  that 
I  must.  By  no  power  can  it  be  prevented.  Send  me 
away,  I  go  ;  but  the  face  of  the  woman  blighted 
through  me  must  move  by  my  side  forever.  You  can 
leave  me,  Nuella,  but  you  can  not  take  away  that  life- 
long pain." 

"  Do  not  talk  so  !  Pity  !  What  have  I  said  ?  I 
never  said  you  had  any  thing  to  do  with  it.  Do  not 
ask  me  questions  ;  I  don't  know  what  I  answer.  I  am 
in  a  place  where  one  false  step  would — Father  in 
heaven,  help  me  !  " 

"  Nuella,  my  wife  that  must  be, — a  voice  within 
says  it  is  through  me  you  suffer.  I  stand  by  you. 
You  will  be  vindicated  by  me.  Your  slanderers  will 
be  put  to  shame.  We  will  scorn  them,  forget  them, 
in  our  happiness." 

"  I  am  bewildered.  You  have  come  into  my  little 
life  like  a  god,  you  overwhelm  me  with  your  greatness  of 
soul,  your  gratitude  where  I  have  done  nothing  ;  I 
can  return  you  nothing,  but  I  will  never  tarnish  your 
name  ;  the  nobler  you  are,  the  stronger  I  am  to  save 
you  from  that." 

"  Yield  to  me,  darling  ;  do  not  doom  us  both  to  inev- 
itable life-long  unhappiness.  I  pledge  my  honor  to 
make  you  see  with  me  that  our  fates  are  bound 
together.  If  when  you  have  thought  it  all  over  you 
still  have  doubts,  never  dream  that  you  are  under  any 
bond." 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do  ?  " 


CHRISTMAS  AT  BON H EUR.  251 

"  Return  with  me  to  your  old  home  ;  we  will  be 
married  in  the  church  you  have  attended " 

Nuella  raised  her  eyes  to  the  horizon,  and  a  radiance 
was  in  them  as  if  she  had  caught  some  celestial  vision. 
She  moved  on  swiftly,  silently,  then  paused,  and 
turned  to  her  lover  eyes  full  of  dreamy  wondering 
trust.  But  suddenly  her  ear  caught  a  sound  whose 
omen  she  understood  better  than  the  southerner — a 
sound  as  of  bullets  singing  through  the  air,  which 
began  to  freeze  as  if  an  iceberg  were  floating  through 
it.  "  We  must  hurry,"  cried  Nuella,  and  began  to  run  ; 
but  it  was  too  late,  for  the  Arctic  dragon  was  upon 
them  with  tornado  coils,  teeth  of  ice,  and  vomit  of 
stinging  blinding  snow.  The  hurricane  was  against 
them  ;  the  snow  did  not  fall  to  the  ground  but  was 
held  in  the  air,  and  it  was  like  moving  against  a  mar- 
ble wall.  Nuella  began  to  stagger,  and  turned  her 
back  to  the  furious  blows  of  the  storm.  Stirling, 
realizing  the  danger,  implored  her  to  keep  moving, 
but  at  last  she  sank  exhausted.  He  lifted  her  in  his 
arms  and  struggled  on  until  a  horror  shot  through 
him — it  was  as  if  he  were  carrying  a  log.  He  called 
her  by  name,  but  there  was  no  answer.  Near  the  foot 
of  a  large  oak  he  laid  her  down,  covered  her  with  her 
shawl,  his  overcoat,  coat,  waistcoat — placing  a  log 
beneath  the  folds  so  as  to  secure  air  should  she  be 
covered  by  a  drift — and  then  ran  toward  the  village,  in 
the  face  of  the  storm.  His  burning  heart  alone  kept 
Stirling  from  sinking  until  he  fell  on  the  threshold  of 
the  nearest  house — that  of  Naboth  Warriner,  who  was 
soon  on  his  way  with  a  wagon  to  rescue  Nuella* 
Half-frozen  as  he  was  Stirling  also  returned,  and 


25 2  PINE  AND  PALM. 

they  found  a  white  mound  where  he  had  laid  Nuella. 
Haggard  with  fear  he  tore  away  the  snow,  which,  the 
hurricane  having  passed,  had  settled  to  a  thickness  of 
several  inches  over  her.  Nuella,  perfectly  comforta- 
ble under  that  white  wool,  rose  up  as  from  a  happy 
slumber. 

When  they  were  talking  over  the  adventure  next 
day,  Nuella  said  she  remembered  only  his  taking  her 
in  his  arms,  and  then  laying  her  down  ;  the  rest  was 
a  pleasant  dream. 

"  Let  us  resume  our  talk,"  said  Stirling  ;  "  you 
were  about  to  say  when  our  wedding  should  take  place 
in  West  Lebanon  Church" — 

"  Was  I  ? " 

"  I  hope  so.  At  any  rate  you  didn't  say  no  the 
last  time,  and  silence  is  consent." 

"  Unless  one's  lips  are  frozen."  Whereupon  Ran- 
dolph closed  them  otherwise. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A     WREATH     OF     WINTER    BLOSSOMS. 

WHEN  Stirling  left  White  River  Junction  to  seek 
Nuella,  Manuel  hastened  to  show  Benton's  con- 
fession to  Mr.  Grace.  The  minister  was  deeply  moved, 
rose  to  his  feet  with  a  cry  for  justice,  and  started  with 
Manuel  to  find  a  lawyer.  At  the  parsonage  door  they 
met  Benton  coming,  overwhelmed  with  fear,  to  ask  the 
minister's  intercession  with  Manuel.  Layman,  he 
said,  had  disappeared  from  the  neighborhood.  Ben- 
ton  declared  that  he  did  not  know  the  innocence  he 
was  smirching,  that  Manuel  would  find  him  anxious 
to  make  what  reparation  he  could,  and  that  he  was 
ready  to  leave  home  and  search  for  Nuella.  Manuel 
and  the  minister  concluded  to  forego  for  the  time 
appeal  to  the  law.  Mr.  Grace  demanded  that  the 
offender  should  be  present  in  his  congregation  on  the  fol- 
lowing Sunday  morning.  On  that  occasion  he  preached 
about "  false  witness,"  and  caused  great  excitement  as 
he  spoke  pointedly  of  u  the  vile  and  cruel  slanders, 
now  confessed,  which  had  recently  driven  a  pure  and 
honorable  young  lady  from  the  congregation  she  had 
adorned." 

On  New  Year's  Eve  Ruth, — grown  womanly  under 
her  responsibilities — sat  with  her  father  in  his  own 


2J4  PINE  AND  PALM. 

room.  The  accounts  of  the  passing  year  had  been 
balanced,  save  the  heaviest  of  them  all.  Manuel  gazed 
into  the  fire  with  tearful  eyes,  and  Ruth  sat  on  the 
floor  caressing  his  hand.  She  started  up  at  a  knock 
on  the  door,  and  the  next  moment  gave  a  scream  cf 
delight  :  two  letters  were  handed  in,  one  bearing  her 
sister's  handwriting.  They  could  hardly  read,  through 
happy  tears,  the  sweet  story  told  by  Nuella.  Manuel's 
letter  was  from  Stirling.  It  begged  him  to  arrange 
for  the  wedding  to  take  place  in  church  in  six  weeks, 
and  desired  that  when  Nuella  came  nothing  should  be 
told  her  of  his  late  visit  to  the  Junction,  or  of  his 
encounter  with  her  slanderers.  She  need  only  be 
informed  that  they  had  confessed.  "  Please  be  very 
careful  on  that  point  ;  it  is  important.  The  marriage 
should  be  announced  from  the  congregational  pulpit. 
We  feel  sure  Mr.  Grace  will  be  glad  to  see  justice 
done.  We  shall  arrive  February  10.  We  are  happy." 

Great  was  the  sorrow  of  Bonheur  at  Nuella's 
departure.  The  school  children  assembled  in  the 
temple,  where  she  was  crowned  with  flowers,  and 
sung  to,  and  addressed  by  Maria  with  faltering  voice. 
Mr.  Alden  read  a  poem  written  for  the  occasion.  A 
procession  of  the  whole  village  attended  the  lovers  to 
the  station. 

The  sorrow  of  Bonheur  was  the  joy  of  White 
River  Junction  and  West  Lebanon.  Sparkling 
was  that  wedding  day  which,  after  the  long  black 
night,  dawned  over  the  beautiful  hills.  The  two 
rivers  which,  in  immemorial  time,  joined  their  forces 
to  break  the  high  barriers,  but  preserved  their  white 
and  brown  colors,  now  with  one  sheen  of  ice  united 


A    WREATH  OF    WINTER  BLOSSOMS.          255 

the  towns  they  normally  separate.  When  at  twilight 
the  bell  sounded  from  the  white  spire  of  West  Lebanon 
it  evoked  responsive  sleigh-bells  ;  along  the  bridges 
and  the  rivers  they  were  heard,  and  lights  as  merry 
danced  over  the  snow  beneath  the  soft  moonlight. 
The  romance  had  been  told  from  every  pulpit,  and  at 
the  Seminary,  and  the  very  elms  and  beeches  around 
the  pretty  church  seemed  to  have  put  on  snow-pure 
veils  to  welcome  the  innocence  so  grievously  wronged, 
and  the  crowds  coming  to  witness  her  vindication 
and  happiness. 

When  Nuella  alighted  at  the  church  door  a  dazzling 
splendor  burst  from  the  interior.  As  the  lovers 
advanced  from  the  vestibule,  the  little  girls  Nuella  had 
once  taught  there  attended  her,  singing  a  chorus  of 
welcome.  Nuella  had  been  told  of  the  confession 
and  flight  of  her  slanderers,  but  she  was  not  prepared 
for  this  scene.  She  could  not  repress  her  emotion, 
and  stopped  in  the  aisle  to  embrace  these  children 
who  were  as  angels  in  white  raiment  welcoming  her  at 
the  gate  of  heaven.  Nor  had  Stirling  any  knowledge 
that  such  a  reception  awaited  them.  Proud  and  elated 
he  pressed  the  trembling  hand  more  firmly  on  his 
arm,  as  they  were  received  by  Ruth  with  the  other 
bridesmaids  and  groomsmen.  The  girls  of  Tilden 
Seminary,  where  Nuella  was  educated,  conspiring  with 
conservatories  far  and  near,  had  made  the  pulpit  a 
pyramid  of  flowers  ;  beneath  an  evergreen  arch  stood 
the  bride  and  bridegroom, — fit  frame  for  the  tableau  in 
which  the  scene  centred.  A  choral  antiphon  had  been 
arranged  between  male  voices  (a  college  choir  from 
Dartmouth)  near  the  organ,  at  the  church  entrance, 


256  PINE  AND  PALM. 

and  female  voices  (the  Seminary  choir)  near  the  pul- 
pit. Nuella  in  white  bridal  dress  and  veil  was  so 
beautiful  that  homage  could  be  heard  whispering 
through  the  crowded  assembly.  The  singing  gave 
time  for  her  bewilderment  to  pass  away  ;  an  infantine 
joy  smiled  in  her  eyes  and  the  faded  roses  again 
bloomed  on  her  cheek.  As  the  chorus  closed  she 
turned  her  face  to  Randolph  as  if  about  to  say  some- 
thing, but  her  eyes  alone — he  met  them  with  a  trium- 
phant smile — spoke  the  fullness  of  her  joy  in  that 
supreme  moment. 

When  the  ceremony  was  over  the  minister,  in  his 
brief  address,  said  that  during  his  long  connection 
with  the  church  he  had  never  before  known  another 
occasion  so  fraught  with  general  joy  as  this.  By 
spontaneous  good-will  the  community  had  united  to 
offer  this  festivity  to  their  young  sister  and  her  hon- 
ored husband  ;  nobody  had  to  be  urged,  all  were 
eager.  By  favor  of  Miss  Ruth  the  wedding  gifts  had 
been  sent  to  the  church.  At  this  moment  the  choir  of 
maidens  parted,  a  curtain  was  drawn  back,  and  a  table 
laden  with  presents  was  displayed. 

"  Could  I  only  kneel  to  you  !  "  whispered  Nuella. 

Stirling's  answer  was  a  kiss. 

The  venerable  minister  held  out  his  hand,  but 
Nuella  threw  her  arms  around  him  and  kissed  him. 
Then  followed  Manuel  and  Ruth,  with  embraces,  tears 
and  laughter  :  then  the  children  Nuella  had  taught, 
and  suddenly  the  whole  crowd  surged  forward  to 
shake  hands.  Ruth  led  them  to  see  the  presents.  A 
handsome  piece  of  silver  was  engraved  with  the  words  : 
"  Emanuella  Rhodes.  From  the  Sunday-school." 


A    WREATH  OF    WINTER  BLOSSOMS.         257 

The  Junction  House  ball-room  was  presently  the 
scene  of  a  dance  and  a  supper  of  a  magnificence 
hitherto  unknown  in  that  region.  The  night  trains  as 
they  passed  showed  a  head  at  every  window,  won- 
dering at  the  illumination  and  the  violins  making  the 
ear  of  night  tingle.  The  rose  of  dawn  was  unfolding 
when  the  lastdeparting  sleigh-bells  were  heard. 

A  happy  week  at  White  River  Junction  followed 
the  wed'dmg,  but  the  end  of  it  brought  sad  tidings 
from  Kansas.  A  package  came  from  Alfred  Rhodes, 
inclosing  the  title  to  his  land  claim  there,  with  a 
bequest  of  it  to  his  father,  and  a  letter  stating  that  he 
was  wounded.  The  letter  was  written  by  himself. 
The  package  had  been  brought  by  hand  to  Tabor, 
Iowa,  and  there  mailed  by  Captain  John  Brown,  who 
also  wrote  to  Manuel.  Colonel  Rhodes,  he  said,  had 
been  shot  in  the  side  by  Missourians  ;  he  did  not 
know  how  serious  the  wound  might  prove,  but  from 
what  he  had  heard,  thought  it  not  necessarily  fatal. 
Unfortunately,  however,  it  was  hardly  possible  for  the 
sufferer  to  receive  proper  care.  He  expected  to  hear 
again  about  the  colonel  in  a  week's  time  and  would 
forward  any  information  he  might  receive  to  his 
father. 

Nuella  had  long  forgotten  her  notion  of  going  to 
Kansas — it  belonged  to  an  oubliette  closed  and  sealed 
with  the  year  just  dead.  But  now  it  rose  again  and 
Stirling,  remembering  her  words  in  the  wood  at  Bon- 
heur,  spoke  to  her  silent  thought,  and  said,  "  Where 
you  wish  to  go,  I  will  go." 

"  Alfred  was  always  an  affectionate  brother,"  was 
her  only  reply. 


258  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  Suppose  we  should  go  to  this  Tabor — it  sounds 
like  the  region  of  our  Captain  Gideon — and  decide 
there  whether  we  can,  or  need,  attempt  the  further 
journey  ?  "  Stirling  suggested. 

This,  after  much  consideration,  was  the  course 
determined  on.  A  week  was  given  to  preparation — 
on  one  day  of  which  Nuella  slipped  off  alone,  and 
after  a  grievously  long  absence  from  her  husband, 
privately  confided  to  Manuel's  care  her  signed  and 
attested  will.  The  next  day  Stirling  and  Nuella  took 
their  places  on  a  westward  train  :  the  journey  of  their 
life  was  begun. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A  BY-WAY    OF    OLD  VIRGINIA. 

TT  7ENTWORTH  left  the  northward  train  at  Fred- 
VV  ericksburg,  where  he  bought  a  horse,  having 
resolved  to  travel  on  horseback  to  The  Palms.  His 
baggage  was  intrusted  to  a  grain-wagon  returning  to 
Fauquier,  except  what  was  packed  in  his  ample  saddle- 
bags. Thus  equipped  he  started  at  daybreak. 
Reaching  the  edge  of  the  town  he  paused  on  the  brow 
of  a  hill  to  observe  the  picturesque  scene.  On  his 
right  the  Rappahannock  flowed  peacefully  through  its 
meadows,  bearing  here  and  there  a  scow  laden  with 
grain  and  propelled  by  negroes  with  long  poles.  For- 
ward, in  the  distance,  the  river  disappeared  beneath 
a  long  bridge,  beyond  which  rose  high  green  hills,  on 
each  height  a  mansion  whose  white  walls  gleamed 
through  stately  trees.  On  his  left  was  the  marble 
monument  of  the  mother  of  Washington.  As  he  rode 
on  he  met  carts  on  their  way  to  town  laden  with  early 
summer  fruit.  On  the  bridge  he  moved  slowly,  look- 
ing at  the  rapids,  the  fish-traps,  the  islets,  with  here 
and  there  a  troop  of  merry  swimmers.  It  was  all 
pretty  and  idyllic  ;  but  as  he  passed  through  the  vil- 
lage beyond  he  reflected  that  in  New  England  a  river 
with  such  falls  near  its  head  of  navigation  would  run 


260  PINE  AND  PALM. 

golden  sands.  From  the  top  of  a  hill  beyond  he  sur- 
veyed again  the  beautiful  vale,  the  shining  river,  and 
distant  steeples  mirrored  in  its  peace.  Little  could 
he  dream  that  where  he  paused  artillery  would  pres- 
ently be  planted,  the  tranquil  air  tremble  with  shot 
and  shell,  that  peaceful  town  on  the  horizon  become 
historic  in  the  annals  of  war. 

As  the  rider  traveled  on,  the  sun  began  to  burn,  but, 
shaded  by  an  umbrella,  he  was  able  to  enjoy  the  nov- 
elties of  a  Virginia  summer.  Houses  and  people 
became  rare  ;  now  and  then  negroes  gazed  at  him 
from  the  fields  of  maize  ;  occasionally  he  met  one  of 
the  long  white-bonneted  wagons  which  railway  trans- 
portation had  not  yet  fossilized  ;  but  for  the  most 
part  the  waysi'de  liveliness  was  contributed  by  shrill 
concerts  of  the  cicadas,  bright  lizards,  spotted  snakes, 
striped  ground-squirrels,  the  dove's  cooing,  the  colin's 
call,  Ah,  Bob  White  j  and  once  he  stopped  to  listen  to 
the  melodies  of  a  mocking-bird.  The  road  was  fringed 
with  wild  flowers,  the  Virginia  creeper  was  decorating 
fence  and  field,  and  sometimes  through  a  dark  wood 
the  voiceless  "  nightingale  "  flashed  like  a  torch. 

For  seven  or  eight  miles  of  the  way,  Wentworth  felt 
as  if  he  were  getting  beyond  the  human  habitat  ;  he 
could  not  hear  even  the  lowing  of  a  cow  or  baying  of 
a  dog,  but  only  wild  sounds  ;  and  a  sense  of  loneli- 
ness oppressed  him.  He  sank  into  a  long  reverie, 
from  which  he  was  recalled  by  a  human  voice.  He 
looked  up  and  saw  a  handsome  dwelling-house,  fifty 
rods  from  the  road.  There  was  another  call,  and  he 
presently  saw,  within  the  road-side  fence,  a  gentleman 
who  was  hailing  him. 


A   BY-WAY  OF  OLD   VIRGINIA.  261 

"  Good  morning,  sir,  are  you  traveling  far?  " 

"  To  the  neighborhood  of  Warrenton." 

"  Won't  you  alight  for  a  time  ?  You've  a  long  ride 
before  you." 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  think  not." 

"  It's  near  dinner  time,  and  you're  welcome  to  food 
for  yourself  and  horse.  If  you're  a  stranger  to  these 
parts  I  may  warn  you  that  you've  passed  the  only 
tavern." 

"  Yes,  I  am  a  stranger,  but  I   have  some  food." 

"  But  your  horse  may  suffer.  You  had  better  rest 
a  little,  sir.  I  don't  know  that  we've  much  to  offer, 
but  I  shouldn't  like  to  think  of  your  going  on  without 
any  refreshment." 

"  I  will  not  refuse  your  hospitality,  so  kindly 
offered." 

"  I'll  meet  you  at  the  gate  a  little  further  on." 

The  Virginian  gathered  from  his  guest  as  they 
moved  slowly  to  the  door  that  he  was  on  his  way  to 
The  Palms. 

"  Ah,  Judge  Stirling's  place  !  Very  glad  to  meet 
you,  sir.  The  judge  hasn't  his  superior  in  Virginia. 
We  have  known  each  other  many  years,  and  I  should 
never  forgive  myself  if  I'd  let  any  relation  of  his  pass 
my  door  without  coming  in." 

"  I'm  not  a  relation,  but  one  of  his  family  is  my 
best  friend." 

"  I'll  be  bound  it's  Gisela.  I'd  have  to  challenge 
you,  sir,  if  it's  Gisela — no  help  for  it  but  to  eat  my 
bread  and  salt. — Tom  !  see  this  gentleman's  horse  fed. 
You'll  stop  for  the  night,  Mr.  —  ?  " 

"  Wentworth.     No,  thank  you — I  must  get  on." 


262  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  Welcome  the  coming,  speed  the  parting,  guest  is 
our  way  here.  My  name  is  Eden — Marshall  Eden." 

Thus  on  the  lonely  high-road  our  traveler  was  way- 
laid  and  presently  found  himself  captive  in  a  circle  of 
attractive  people.  The  matron  presided  with  grace  at 
her  board,  and  the  sons  and  daughters  around  it  were 
refined  and  affable.  After  they  had  learned  that  he 
was  on  his  way  to  The  Palms  there  were  not  wanting 
significant  smiles,  which  the  guest  suspected  might 
be  due  to  a  "  reckon  "  that  he  was  going  there 
as  a  suitor.  The  young  people  ran  on  with  enthusi- 
asm about  Gisela  and  Penelope,  who  had  visited  them, 
and  gave  him  loving  messages  for  them. 

It  was  nearly  three  o'clock  when  he  started  on  his 
way.  He  hoped  to  reach  Warrenton  that  evening  and 
ride  over  to  The  Palms — several  miles  away  from  that 
town — in  the  afternoon  of  next  day,  which  was  Sun- 
day. But  his  plans  were  destined  to  be  upset,  and 
he  was  to  have  another  experience  of  the  hospitality 
of  this  region.  At  about  five  o'clock  a  sudden  thunj- 
derstorm  arose,  the  sky  was  palled,  the  thunder  and 
lightning  grew  furious  ;  and  in  the  distance  the  rain 
was  as  a  mighty  wall  moving  toward  the  high-road. 
No  umbrella  could  live  in  the  hurricane,  and  Went- 
worth  had  resigned  himself  to  a  drenching,  when  he 
saw  a  negro  running  toward  him,  shouting  and  waving 
his  arms.  The  man  said  his  master  had  seen  him, 
and  hoped  he  wouldn't  think  of  facing  such  a  storm. 
Wentworth  had  no  hesitation  this  time,  and  galloped 
to  the  house  through  pursuing  hailstones. 

"  Come  in,  sir,  come  in  !  "  said  the  sturdy  old 
farmer  who  met  him  in  the  porch.  "Lucky  I  caught 


A   BY-WAY  OF  OLD    VIRGINIA.  263 

sight  of  you,  for  it's  going  to  be  a  mighty  hard 
storm.*' 

"  You  are  watchful  people  in  this  region.  This  is 
the  second  time  to-day  I've  enjoyed  Virginia  hospi- 
tality." 

Entering  the  parlor  they  found  the  family  gathered 
in  the  center  of  the  darkened  room,  their  feet  on  each 
other's  chair-rounds — traditional  securities  against 
lightning.  They  greeted  Wentworth  and  invited  him 
to  join  their  circle.  It  was  too  dark  for  faces  to  be 
distinguished,  and  the  thunder  was  too  loud  and  con- 
tinuous to  admit  of  much  conversation  ;  but  even  this 
terrific  storm  was  not  enough  to  paralyze  curiosity. 

"  Are  you  on  your  way  to  the  Camp  Meeting,  sir  ? — 
good  gracious  !  wasn't  that  loud  !  " 

"  No,  madam" — a  venture — "  I  am  going  to  The 
Palms." 

"  Oh,  the  Sterlings'  place." 

"  We  said  " — farmer's  voice — "  we  thought  you 
might  be  one  of  the  preachers." 

"  I  never  saw  a  Camp  Meeting." 

"  Indeed  !  "  (three  female  voices). 

"  It  is  an  interesting my  !  that  must  have  struck 

something  !  " 

"  I  wish  I  could  never  see  another  Camp  Meeting  " 
(youthful  male  voice). 

"  Nonsense,  Bob,  it's  lots  o'  fun"  (young  female 
voice). 

"  I  wonder  you  both  are  not  afraid  to  talk  so  while 
the  very  lightnings  of  heaven  are  around  you  "  (thin 
and  elderly  female  voice). 

"  Well,  Aunt  Sarah,  I'm  in  earnest"  (Bob).  "  There's 


264  PINE  AND  PALM. 

more  rascality  Camp  Meeting  times  than  all  the  rest 
of  the  year,  and  no  hand's  fit  for  any  thing." 

"  But  people  can't  go  on  the  year  round  without 

some  little  excite oh,  oh  !  wasn't  that  a  crash  !  " 

(young  but  serious  ;  female). 

"  I  don't  belong  to  any  church  "  (farmer),  "  but 
respect  them  all.  However,  I  can't  say  I  think  much 
of  these  Camp  Meetings.  I've  seen  a  good  many,  and 
rather  dread  when  they  come  round." 

"The  first  time  we  met,  Mr.  Morton,  was  at  a  Camp 
Meeting  "  (soft  matronly  voice,  followed  by  a  chorus 
of  laughter). 

The  thunder  presently  died  away,  the  lightning 
flashed  at  longer  intervals,  but  the  rain  continued, 
and  Wentworth  was  persuaded  not  to  go  further  that 
evening.  He  made  himself  agreeable,  entered  into 
the  young  people's  games,  taught  them  new  ones,  and 
the  little  ones  included  him  in  their  good-night  kiss. 
When  the  rest  of  the  family  had  retired  he  joined  the 
farmer  and  his  eldest  son  in  a  smoke.  In  the  course 
of  their  conversation  he  learned  that  the  Stirlings  had 
been  in  some  trouble  about  the  eldest  son,  who  "  was 
said  to  have  become  an  abolitionist  and  got  into  some 
row  about  a  runaway  negro."  As  to  which  Robert 
said,  "  I've  known  Ran  Stirling  all  my  life,  and  I 
won't  believe  he  ever  did  a  mean  thing  unless  he  tells 
me  so  himself — and  I  don't  know  that  I'd  believe  it 
then."  To  this  sentiment  Wentworth  responded 
warmly ;  but  he  carried  an  anxious  head  to  his 
pillow. 

The  Sunday  dawned  bright,  and  all  the  family  were 
going  to  the  Camp.  Wentworth  was  glad  to  go  with 


A   BY-WAV  OF  OLD    VIRGINIA.  265 

them  ;  it  was  not  much  out  of  his  way,  and  he  did  not 
wish  to  reach  The  Palms  until  after  dinner.  The 
Morton  cavalcade  started  early.  The  sun  was  hot, 
but  the  rain  had  laid  the  dust  and  the  ride  was  pleas- 
ant ;  Wentworth  found  it  especially  amusing,  for  he 
had  a  witty  companion  in  the  family  reprobate — Julia 
— who  sat  her  horse  well,  and  gave  him  an  anecdotical 
account  of  every  body  and  every  thing.  As  they 
approached  the  Camp  the  roads  were  massed  with 
processions  of  wagons,  gigs,  buggies,  sulkies,  carioles, 
coaches,  horses  with  two  on  most  of  them,  and  endless 
lines  of  negroes  on  foot.  The  Camp  was  in  a  forest. 
Tents  and  shanties,  three  deep,  surrounded  a  vast 
horse-shoe  space  filled  with  plank  seats.  Outside  the 
circle  of  tents  were  booths  for  cider  and  lemonade,  the 
bars  for  strong  drinks  being  farther  off.  Gay  parties 
filled  the  tents  and  grounds.  The  early  prayer- meet- 
ing was  not  quite  over  in  the  rude  forest  chancel  when 
Wentworth  arrived.  He  took  his  position  at  a  point 
which  commanded  a  near  view  of  the  congregation  of 
negroes,  whose  benches  were  behind  the  platform- 
pulpit. 

By  ten  o'clock  the  seats  were  crowded.  There  was 
much  expectation  from  the  preacher  of  the  morning, 
a  famous  young  revivalist  from  Washington.  He  was 
a  handsome,  unmarried  (the  fact  was  widely  repeated) 
and  rosy  man,  under  thirty  years.  Appearing  last 
among  the  score  of  preachers  on  the  platform,  his 
coming  excited  a  sensation  similar  to  that  of  a  prima- 
donna's  entrance  among  her  chorus.  He  was  dressed 
in  newest  broadcloth  and  starchest  white  cravat  and 
linen;  his  hair  concealed  his  ears  with  arabesque  rolls; 


266  PINE  AND  PALM. 

a  complacent  smile  was  on  his  mouth,  but  his  eyes 
were  fixed  and  solemn. 

He  began  his  sermon  with  studied  gesture  and 
memorized  rhetoric — spoke  of  "  the  star-fringed  bosom 
of  Night,"  and  of  "  the  cross,  like  the  lightning-rod, 
drawing  to  itself  the  thunderbolt  of  Eternal  Justice." 
Perhaps  he  would  have  been  glad  to  go  on  exciting 
wonder  by  his  imagery  and  knowledge  ;  but  that  was 
not  what  he  was  brought  there  for.  In  front  of  him 
were  several  long  benches  which  he  had  to  fill  with 
awakened  and  imploring  "  mourners."  So  after  some 
fifteen  minutes  of  ornamental  discourse  his  voice  grew 
loud,  his  form  began  to  tremble,  a  pythonic  rage 
dilated  his  eye,  which  seemed  to  behold  the  lost  souls 
in  their  torment. 

There  were  some  scoffers  just  behind  Wentworth 
who  talked  in  half- whisper. 

"  You  take  your  brimstone  neat  at  this  bar, — hey, 
Bill  ? " 

"  That's  so.     No  hell-and-water  here." 

"  He's  been  there  and  knows  all  about  it." 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourselves,"  said  an 
txcited  woman  to  the  young  men  ;  "you'd  better  be 
thinking  of  your  poor  perishing  souls." 

The  preacher  seemed  to  be  conscious  that  he  had  a 
large  mass  of  this  contemptuous  defiance  before  him. 
There  was  no  word  for  the  skeptic,  none  that  implied 
the  possibility  of  an  intellectual  doubt  or  negation  ; 
the  preacher  was  concentrated  upon  the  task  of  fan- 
ning the  spark  of  fear  or  feeling  in  each  soul  till  it 
caught  fire,  or  rubbing  the  driest  sticks  of  conscience 
till  they  burst  into  flame.  His  trained  ingenuity 


A  BY-WAY  OF  OLD    VIRGINIA.  267 

sounded  like  the  gust  of  inspiration.  His  arms  now 
beat  wildly,  his  face  grew  red,  his  heaving  chest  shot 
out  agonized  appeals.  Suddenly  from  among  the 
negroes  a  wild  shriek  was  heard, — then  another,  a 
moaning  yell.  It  only  needed  this  signal  :  mingled 
shouts  and  cries  broke  forth  behind  the  platform,  and 
a  large  number  were  seized  with  convulsions — some 
rolling  on  the  ground.  Above  these  weird  noises  from 
behind  him  the  preacher's  voice  climbed  higher  and 
higher,  till  the  moanings  began  in  front,  among  the 
whites.  On  he  went,  picturing  the  gay  youth,  the 
worldly  girl,  torn  from  the  pious  mother's  arms  to  be 
cast  into  eternal  billows  of  fire, — the  father's  cry  for 
his  beloved  boy — in  vain,  in  vain  !  Into  the  burning 
lake  they  are  plunged  to  be  tossed  forever  and  ever. 

"  Mercy  !  Mercy  !  " 

"  Oh,  save  me  !  " 

The  cries  broke  out  here,  there,  as  if  arrows'had  sped 
at  random  and  pierced  hearts  everywhere  ;  one  after 
another  pale,  terrified  women — more  rarely  men — 
were  led  into  the  inclosure  to  kneel  at  the  Mourners' 
Bench.  As  the  orator's  voice  began  to  sink  from 
exhaustion,  preachers  on  the  platform  uttered  excla- 
mations— "  Hallelujah  !  "  "  Praise  the  Lord  !  Another 
soul  coming  to  the  mercy-seat !  "  "  Glory  to  God  ! 
Thirty  souls  seeking  the  Lord  while  he  is  near !  " 
"  Brethren,  let  us  have  that  next  bench  for  the  pore 
sinners."  Most  of  the  preachers  and  several  from  the 
inclosure  beneath  them,  now  roamed  through  the 
crowd,  bending  to  whisper  persuasion  wherever  a 
down-dropped  head  or  tearful  eye  was  seen.  Weep- 
ing women  were  entreating  husbands  or  sons  to  go 


268  PINE  AND  PALM. 

and  be  prayed  for.  Many  were  led  forward,  amid 
shouts  of  the  already  converted. 

Most  of  the  "  mourners  "  were  from  the  "  poor 
white  "  class,  then  so-called  ;  a  few,  however,  were 
fashionably  dressed,  and  over  these  the  shouts  were 
especially  loud.  Wentworth  remarked  the  refined  ap- 
pearance of  one  girl,  about  fourteen  years  of  age,  led 
in  by  a  coarse,  red-faced  man  of  middle  age.  Her  face 
could  not  quite  be  seen — a  handkerchief  being  held  to 
her  eyes — but  the  shapely  figure  and  simple  dress  de- 
noted a  lady.  Her  approach  to  the  altar  excited  much 
commotion  ;  whispers  went  around,  hundreds  stood 
on  benches  to  see  her.  Unusual  importance  was 
evidently  attached  to  the  surrender  of  this  girl.  But 
just  then  a  young  man  dashed  along  the  aisle,  leaped 
like  a  leopard  from  bench  to  bench,  rushed  into  the 
inclosure,  parted  the  girl  from  her  red-faced  captor, 
whispered  a  word  in  her  ear,  and  placing  her  hand  in 
his  arm  led  her  away.  The  crowd  made  a  path  before 
the  angry  flash  of  his  eye,  but  cries  from  the  preach- 
ers followed  him. 

"  There  goes  a  soul  dragged  off  to  perdition  !  " 

"  God  pity  that  pore  soul !  " 

"  It's  hard  for  the  rich  to  enter  the  kingdom  !  " 

"  Young  man,  you'll  have  to  answer  for  her  at  the 
last  day  !  " 

Unheeding  these  wrathful  cries  the  youth  moved 
on,  resolute  and  flushed,  and  disappeared  from  the 
grounds.  The  incident  chilled  the  meeting  and  virtu- 
ally ended  it.  The  congregation  broke  up  into 
groups  ;  some  followed  the  disappearing  pair,  others 
went  to  the  tents  and  refreshment  stalls  ;  the  orator's 


A    BY-WAY  OF   OLD    VIRGINIA.  269 

exciting  pictures  had  been  surpassed,  and  there  were 
left  only  a  few  to  pray  and  sing  with  the  mourners. 
When  Wentworth  found  the  Mortons  they  were  pre- 
paring dinner  on  the  grass,  and  eagerly  discussing  the 
sensational  scene.  Some  declared  the  youth  was 
right,  others  that  he  was  wrong.  Wentworth  listened 
with  idle  curiosity  until  a  casually  mentioned  name 
smote  his  ear. 

"  Who  were  those  two  who  made  such  a  scene  ?  " 
he  asked  of  Julia  Morton. 

"  Why,  didn't  you  know  ?  Penelope  and  Douglas 
Stirling." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE    PALMS. 

fine  old  mansion  called  The  Palms  was  so 
1  named  by  its  first  owner,  Bennett  Randolph,  after 
the  paternal  home  of  his  wife  in  Louisiana.  Madame 
Randolph,  nee  Regnault,  justified  the  name  of  the 
home  built  for  her  in  Virginia,  though*  originating  in 
sentiment,  by  nursing  two  palmettos  of  the  hardy 
kind  (chamerops  humilis)  in  front  of  her  door.  Her 
children  declared  themselves  jealous  of  these  palms, 
which  indeed  were  tucked  in  their  coverlets  as  care- 
fully as  the  rest  of  the  family.  But  madame  died  a 
hundred  years  ago,  and  her  palms  followed  her  ;  the 
name  only  remained.  Mrs.  Richard  Stirling  had  been 
her  grand-daughter.  Her  husband,  the  judge,  was 
descended  from  a  gallant  adherent  of  the  Earl  of  Mar 
who  had  been  among  those  imprisoned  at  Newgate 
while  their  chief  was  flying.  At  midnight  he  was 
taken  out  of  prison  by  two  men,  carried  to  a  ship  in 
the  Thames,  given  a  thousand  pounds,  and  warned 
that  if  he  again  set  foot  in  that  country  he  would  be 
beheaded.  Tradition  explained  that  this  young  rebel 
was  a  natural  son  of  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  against 
whom  he  fought.  The  next  land  seen  by  this  exile, 
Douglas  Stirling,  was  Virginia,  where  he  bought 


THE  PALMS.  271 

piedmont  lands  from  which  his  sons  reaped  for- 
tunes. 

It  was  about  four  of  the  Sunday  afternoon  when 
Wentworth  tied  his  horse  to  the  rack  and  walked  up 
a  long  gravel  path,  fringed  with  flowers,  to  the  door 
of  The  Palms.  He  was  not  without  some  trepidation 
lest  he  might  obtrude  upon  a  family  scene,,  conse- 
quent on  that  at  the  Camp.  The  reverberant 
hammer  of  a  huge  brass  knocker  made  him  quake, 
but  the  face  of  a  gentlemanly  mulatto  reassured 
him.  The  judge,  he  said,  was  not  at  home 
but  he  would  see  if  his  son  was.  Wentworth  was 
ushered  into  a  spacious  parlor,  richly  supplied  with 
old-fashioned  furniture,  and  with  portraits.  In  one 
of  these  he  recognized  the  source  of  his  friend's  inde- 
scribable charm  ;  it  was  the  picture  of  a  youthful  lady 
in  gauzy  white  drapery  seated  beneath  an  arch  made 
by  two  palms.  While  waiting  Wentworth  heard  voices 
from  which  he  was  separated  only  by  folding-doors. 
Both  of  these  voices  were  pleasant,  but  one  was  so 
rich,  so  cheerily  sympathetic,  that  he  was  still  as  one 
who  fears  to  frighten  a  bird  of  beautiful  song. 

"  My  poor  Pen,  how  terrified  you  must  have  been 
to  let  that  miserable  Lawson  hold  your  hand  and  take 
you  among  those  people." 

"  I  didn't  know  it  was  him  ;  I  never  knew  any 
thing  at  all  till  Doug  spoke,  then  I  peeped  up  and  saw 
the  horrid  man.  If  I'd  dreamed  it  was  him  I'd  'a' 
took  to  my  heels.  My  !  wasn't  I  glad  to  get  away  !  " 

"  But  I  can't  understand  your  getting  into  it." 

"  Well,  it  was  just  awful  the  way  that  preacher 
preached.  Doug  left  me  a  moment  with  Fanny  Eden 


27 2  PINE  AND  PALM. 

and  the  Wallers  called  Fanny  off,  and  I  hadn't  any 
thing  to  do  but  listen,  and  oh — h,  such  things  he  said 
about  Satan,  and  the  burning  lake  of  hot  fiery  brim- 
stone, and  all  out  of  God's  own  Word  ;  and  he  said  if 
I  didn't  believe  it  I  was  calling  God  a — oh,  I  wouldn't 
repeat  it  for  any  thing." 

"  Which  shows  you  are  better  than  he  was  ;  he  was 
talking  of  what  he  knows  nothing." 

"  But  he  said  almost  the  same  as  what  Dr.  Hunton 
read  in  the  Lesson  last  Sunday ;  only  he  was  so 
anxious  to  make  me  feel  it,  and  Dr.  Hunton  wasn't. 
He  said  the  wicked  shall  be  burned  into  hell  and  all 
the  nations  that  forget  God." 

"  You  dear  goosey,  you  are  not  a  nation  that  forgets 
God." 

"  Yes,  I  am.  You  may  laugh,  Gisela,  but  I  forgot 
God  this  morning  when  Fanny  and  I  were  saying 
where  we  were  going  to  eat — she  was  to  dine  with  the 
Wallers  who  were  going  to  have  ice-cream.  I  hadn't 
thought  a  bit  about  God  until  I  saw  that  preacher 
watching  me — yes,  he  looked  right  at  me,  and  stretched 
out  his  hands  to  me,  and  said,  '  O  young  and  thought- 
less girl,  think  how  it  will  be  when  you  are  trying  to 
reach  your  dear  mother's  arms  in  heaven  to  be  dragged 
down  by  a  mocking  demon  and  plunged  into  burning 
hell !  Turn,  I  beseech  you,  before  it  is  too  late  !  Come 
to  Jesus  !  Close  in  with  the  overtures  ! '  Gisela,  what 
are '  overtures '  ?  I  thought  you  played  'em  on  pianos." 

"  My  poor  darling,  I  can't  help  laughing,  but  I'm 
sorry  too;  I  should  not  have  let  you  go  to  that  Camp." 

"  He  said  it  all  straight  at  me — he  cried  so  loud  I 
thought  his  head  would  burst,  he  looked  on  fire,  his 


THE  PALMS.  273 

arms  seemed  to  reach  over  the  people's  heads  and 
touch  me,  a  chill  shot  down  my  back,  I  followed  him, 
and  then  I  waked  up  and  found  it  was  that  horrid 
Lawson  who  used  to  sell  whisky." 

"  I'm  glad  Douglas  saw  you  before  you  knelt  among 
those  vulgar  people." 

"  My  !  I  am  glad.  But,  Gisela,  isn't  it  dreadful  to 
roll  in  a  sea  just  like  melted  lead  forever  and  ever 
and  ever  ? " 

"  My  sweet  good  sister,  do  rid  yourself  of  such  fool- 
ish notions." 

"  But  Dr.  Hunton  said  one  day " 

"  No  matter  what  any  one  says,  such  notions  are 
false." 

"  Won't  bad  people  be  punished  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,  but  we  don't  know  how  bad  people 
are,  or  how  much  they  ought  to  be  punished.  Jesus 
says  they  will  go  to  prison  but  come  out  when  their 
debt  is  paid  ;  and  Jesus  who  once  paid  the  debts  of 
sinful  men  can  pay  them  again.  The  fire  and  brim- 
stone spoken  of  in  the  Bible  are  metaphorical." 

"  Metawhat  ? " 

"  Metaphorical.  That  is  they  don't  mean  exactly 
what  they  say, — just  as  when  you  said  the  preacher 
looked  on  fire  ;  you  didn't  mean  he  actually  caught 
fire." 

"  Ah,  I  see, — that's  what  it  means." 

"  That  is  what  it  means.  And  you  mustn't  think 
that  you  .are  forgetting  God  when  you  are  not  exactly 
thinking  of  him.  Whenever  you  are  doing  your  best 
in  any  thing  you  are  thinking  of  him.  You  forget 
God  only  when  you  forget  yourself,  and  do  wrong, 


274  PINE  AND  PALM. 

and  that  isn't  often,  dear  Pen.  So  let  this  be  your 
last  worry  of  that  kind,  and  don't  believe  every  thing 
you  hear  from  preachers.  Good  men  are  sometimes 
mistaken." 

An  exchange  of  kisses  followed,*  and  presently  a 
third  voice  was  audible. 

"  It's  a  gentleman  I  never  saw  before." 

"  Father  will  be  back  in  an  hour.  I've  made 
Douglas  take  a  nap.  I'll  see  the  gentleman  myself." 

When  the  door  opened  Wentworth  looked  on  .the 
loveliest  face  he  had  ever  seen.  The  tear-mist  lingered 
on  Gisela's  eyelashes,  and  the  laughter  still  played  in 
her  eyes.  It  was  the  dimpled  mouth  of  infant  inno- 
cency  under  a  strong  brow,  upheld  by  a  straight  deli- 
cate nose  ;  the  ample  cascades  of  auburn  hair  could 
not  hide  the  wide  forehead  ;  the  force  in  the  face 
found  its  softening  touches  in  the  translucent  skin, 
the  rounded  outlines,  and  the  large  candid  eyes  quick 
with  intelligence  and  affection.  The  golden  mean  of 
nature  was  attained  in  this  perfect  form,  less  hid  than 
expressed  by  the  casual  summer  raiment  investing  her 
unconscious  beauty. 

"  This  must  be  Randolph's  sister,"  he  said,  "  I  am 
his  friend  Wentworth." 

"  How  glad,  how  glad  I  am  that  you  have  come  ! 
We  feared  the  heat  had  made  you  migrate  north,  and 
pass  us  by." 

The  tears  started  to  her  eyes  as  she  took  his  hand, 
for  he  revived  thoughts  of  her  wandering  brother,  and 
she  turned  quickly  to  throw  open  the  folding-doors. 

"Pen!"  she  cried?  "Penelope,  it  is  Mr,  Went- 
worth ! " 


THE  PALMS.^  275 

Flushed  and  sparkling  Pen  darted  forward,  then 
paused  with  a  shy  laugh,  and  Wentworth  seized  both 
of  her  hands. 

"  And  this  is  Miss  Penelope  !  of  whom  Randolph 
has  talked  a  hundred, — no,  a  thousand  times ;  but 
Miss  Stirling  mustn't  be  jealous,  for  he  has  talked  of 
her  a  thousand  and  ten  times." 

"  Run,  Pen,  and  tell  Douglas  who  is  here." 

"You'd  better  not  disturb  him."  But  Pen  was 
gone. 

"  He'd  disturb  us  if  he  wasn't  told.  Papa  dined 
with  a  friend  to-day,  but  will  be  here  soon.  Every 
day  he  wonders  if  you  will  come." 

"I  wrote  from  Richmond  that  I  was  on  my  way." 

"  We  shall  probably  get  the  letter  to-morrow,  but 
the  surprise  is  pleasant.  There's  Douglas." 

The  face  which  Wentworth  had  seen  in  the  morn- 
ing flashing  wrath  on  the  crowd  around  his  sister,  was 
now  all  sunshine. 

"  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  sir.  No  man  in  the  world, 
unless  brother  Randolph,  could  be  welcomer  here  than 
you." 

"  And  I  am  happy  to  be  here.  Have  you  heard 
from  him  lately  ?  " 

"  I'm  glad  to  say  we  have, — a  short  note  to  say  he 
is  well  and  happy." 

"  And  we  have  received  a  more  important  one," 
said  Gisela,  "  from  an  old  friend  of  ours,  a  lady  who 
knows  his  wife  intimately,  describing  her  as  so  lovely 
that  we  feel  much  easier  about  him." 

"  There's  papa  !  "  cried  Penelope,  darting  out  to  the 
gate.  All  went  to  the  hall  to  meet  the  judge,  who 


276  PINE  AND  PALM. 

greeted  Wentworth  with  emotion.  As  the  general 
conversation  proceeded  it  became  evident  to  the  vis- 
itor that  the  judge's  children  had  withheld  from  him 
what  had  occurred  at  the  Camp,  and  he  did  not  men- 
tion his  presence  there,  while  relating  his  adventures  on 
the  way,  and  delivering  friendly  messages  from  the 
Edens.  After  supper  the  judge,  apologizing  for  his 
"  selfishness,"  took  Wentworth  to  his  library,  where 
the  conversation  soon  turned  on  the  subject  upper- 
most in  the  thoughts  of  each. 

"  There,"  said  the  judge,  pointing  to  a  batch  of  let- 
ters yellow  with  age,  "  are  some  letters  that  passed 
between  my  great-grandfather  and  my  grandfather. 
I  had  not  read  them  for  thirty  years  when  I  came 
across  them  last  week.  I  remembered  nothing  very 
striking  in  them,  but  thirty  years  can  give  a  man  new 
eyes — as  well  as  take  away  the  old  ones,"  he  added, 
as  he  put  on  his  spectacles. 

"  My  grandfather,"  continued  the  judge,  untying 
the  letters,  "  was  in  Edinburgh  studying  medicine,  and 
in  his  last  term  formed  the  acquaintance  of  a  young 
lady  to  whom,  in  the  free  Virginian  way,  he  paid  a 
certain  amount  of  attention,  not  intending  any  thing 
very  serious.  But  gossips  began  to  handle  the  lady's 
name  injuriously  on  account  of  his  visits,  and  this 
youth  of  twenty-one  promptly  proposes  marriage  and 
is  accepted.  He  writes  to  his  father  about  it ;  the 
old  man  protests  ;  the  son  is  determined  ;  the  father 
threatens  to  disown  him  ;  the  youth  maintains  that  his 
honor  is  involved  as  well  as  that  of  the  young  lady, 
claims  a  small  inheritance  once  bequeathed  to  him, 
and  in  the  end  brings  his  young  wife  to  Virginia, 


THE  PALMS.  277 

His  father  saw  and  loved  her.  Poor  thing  !  she  died 
of  her  first  confinement,  the  child  also  died,  and  noth- 
ing remains  of  her  in  our  family  but  her  name,  Gisela, 
and  the  little  romance  recorded  in  these  old  letters. 
And  now,  Mr.  Wentworth,  it  has  all  come  round  again 
— not  all,  either,  I  hope ;  for  though  Randolph  has 
acted  in  the  same  spirit  as  his  great-grandfather,  I 
am  thankful  to  say  I  never  threatened  to  disown  him. 
From  that  my  faith  in  Randolph  saved  me.  And  now 
I  have  received  a  letter  from  a  valued  friend,  a  Mrs. 
Shelton  of  New  York,  saying  that  his  wife  is  her  inti- 
mate friend,  and  a  woman  we  will  all  love." 

"  What  was  the  name  of  Randolph's  wife  ?  " 

"Emanuella  Rhodes." 

Wentworth  had  to  search  his  memory  a  little,  and 
then  told  the  judge  how  Nuella  had  devoted  herself 
to  Randolph  in  his  illness.  He  did  not  fail  to  make 
the  most  of  her  attractions,  but  he  was  full  of  wonder 
at  this  strange  event. 

There  had  been  important  consultations  in  the  par- 
lor on  the  subject  of  the  visitor's  entertainment,  and 
next  day,  at  breakfast,  Gisela  informed  him  that 
about  midnight  she  had  seen  a  ghost. 

"  A  ghost !  "  cried  Pen,—"  Oh,  do  tell  us,  Gisela  ! 
I  thought  you  didn't  believe  in  ghosts." 

"  I  didn't  till  last  night,  but  after  I  had  been  in  bed 
an  hour — but  I  assure  you  perfectly  awake — the  door 
opened  and  a  sheeted  figure — it  may  have  been  a 
shroud  or  a  nightgown " 

"I  do  declare,  Gisela,  you  are  too  bad  for  any 
thing,"  said  Pen,  blushing  and  laughing. 

"  I  assure  you,  Mr,  Wentworth  and  Douglas,  it  is 


278  PINE  AND  PALM. 

perfectly  true, — the  white  figure  approached  my  bed, 
bent  down— think  what  an  awful  moment !-— and 
spake." 

"What  did  it  say?"  cried  Wentworth  excitedly, 
"don't  keep  us  in  suspense  !  " 

"  You  wicked,  wicked  sister  !  "  said  Pen,  her  hands 
tight  over  Gisela's  mouth. 

"  The  fi-fi-gure  s-s-said,  '  I  know  what  to  do,  take 
him  to  the  Tournament.'  That's  a  warning,  Mr. 
Wentworth." 

"It  was  a  good  ghost,"  said  he,  "and  I  like  her." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  it  was  a  her,  Mr.  Went- 
worth ? "  said  Pen. 

"  A  him  wouldn't  -have  been  so  considerate.  If 
either  of  you  know  that  ghost  I  would  be  obliged  if 
you'd  ask  her  to  walk  with  me  in  the  woods  and  show 
me  wild  flowers  and  things." 

"  Can't  I  ? "  asked  Penelope. 

"  It  ought  to  be  that  ghost  that  was  so  thoughtful 
for  me." 

"  I  reckon  you'll  have  to  take  me,"  said  Pen,  "  but 
Giselawas  naughty." 

Wentworth's  walk  with  Pen,  whom  he  found  an 
accomplished  naturalist  in  the  butterfly-world,  was 
the  first  of  almost  daily  expeditions.  His  horseback 
excursions  were  with  Gisela  or  Douglas.  His  first 
week  at  The  Palms  glided  with  hours  too  unconscious 
of  their  serenity  to  be  recorded. 

Blessed  are  the  days  that  have  no  history  !  But 
these,  alas,  too  often  lead  on  the  day  to  which  the 
heart  vainly  cries,  "  Stay,  thou  art  fair  !  "  Around 
pretty,  but  somewhat  sleepy,  Warrenton  there  is  no 


THE  PALMS.  279 

imposing  scenery  ;  it  is  a  land  of  gentle  slopes  and 
languid  rivulets,  of  deep  woods,  green  lanes,  and  many 
flowers  ;  a  land  of  fair  ladies,  of  whom  one  was  fair 
enough  to  make  our  Bostonian  write  to  a  northern 
friend — "  This  is  the  most  picturesque  country  I  have 
ever  seen."  The  words  came  from  one  wandering  in 
an  enchanted  land,  his  brief  southern  life  rounded 
with  a  dream. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

FAIR   DAYS   AND    A    FEARSOME    NIGHT. 

BUT  dreams  pass, — the  happier  the  swifter.  Went- 
worth  realized  it  with  a  heavy  heart  when,  after 
a  fortnight  of  happy  days,  he  awoke  one  morning  with 
the  vision  of  a  beloved  face  receding  from  him  and 
vanishing  away.  The  great  tender  eyes  which  had 
kindled  a  new  warm  life  in  his  soul  might  mislead  the 
morn  with  their  beautiful  light,  but  they  could  not 
stay  the  advance  of  that  stern  day  whose  remorseless 
voice  said,  "  Thy  repose  must  end  :  the  task  of  life  is 
waiting." 

Gisela  also  had  her  dreams  ;  they  were  fair  but 
haunted  by  the  like  stern  presence  which  said,  "Yes, 
he  must  go  :  resign  yourself  to  the  inevitable  ;  and 
remember,  if  by  any  appeal  to  this  man's  weakness — 
a  word,  a  look — you  withdraw  him  from  the  vocation 
that  waits,  you  smite  him  to  fruitlessness." 

The  main  stem  of  friendship  between  Wentworth 
and  the  family  at  The  Palms  was  grown  before  his 
arrival  ;  his  presence  had  carried  it  to  leaf  and  flower. 
Brief  as  his  visit  seemed,  on  that  sad  day  that  warned 
him  it  must  end,  the  intimacy  formed  registered  years 
instead  of  weeks.  Penelope  met  him  that  morning 
with  a  shining  face,  and  a  copy  of  The  Flag  containing 


FAIR  DA  YS  AND  A    FEARSOME  NIGHT.      281 

an  announcement  that  the  tournament  at  the  Springs 
would  take  place  in  three  weeks. 

"  Won't  it  be  nice  for  us  all  to  go  !  There's  to  be  a 
masquerade  in  the  evening.  I  know  what  I'd  like  to 
go  as.  Please  beg  Gisela  to  let  me  go  !  " 

"  Certainly  you  must  go  ;  but  don't  you  remember 
the  ghost  ?  You'll  have  to  go  as  a  ghost." 

"  And  what  will  you  go  as  ? " 

"  I  think  I'll  have  to  be  present  as  another  ghost." 

"  What  fun  !  " 

In  the  afternoon  all  of  them  rode  farther  than  usual, 
and  they  reached  the  Rappahannock,  halting  there  in 
a  grassy  glade  shaded  by  sycamores.  There  was 
visible  only  a  small  frame  house,  at  the  end  of  the 
riverside  grove,  to  qualify  the  solitude. 

"  An  old  white  witch  lives  in  that  cabin,"  said 
Gisela, — "  a  lucky  witch,  who  casts  on  you  the  good 
instead  of  the  evil  eye.  She  makes  her  living  by 
telling  happy  fortunes.  Our  swimming  shore  is  near 
there,  and  she  keeps  our  costumes." 

Wentworth  desired  to  visit  this  "  Mother  Collamer," 
and  they  found  her  at  her  door  smoking — a  shriveled 
crone  in  cotton  gown. 

"  Come  for  yer  fortens  or  a  swim  ? "  said  the 
delighted  old  woman. 

"  Let's  have  our  fortunes  told,"  said  Wentworth. 

"  I'll  fetch  the  cards  in  a  minute,  Miss  Gisela.  I 
seed  two  of  ye  on  them  cards  this  blessed  mornin'  ;  ses 
I,  thar's  a  pair  a-comin'  of  pertickler  luck.  Come  in  !  " 

The  interior  of  the  cabin  was  surprisingly  neat.  The 
black  cat — the  regulation  familiar  of  witches — met 
them  with  glassy  eyes  and  leaped  on  Penelope's  lap, 


282  PINE  AND  PALM. 

whereon  Gisela  winked  and  nodded  to  Mother  Col- 
lamer  in  a  way  to  signify  that  Pen  was  their  new 
friend's  favorite.  This  rather  confused  the  cards  in 
their  prognostications. 

"  Water's  fusrate  this  arternoon,"  said  Mother  Col- 
lamer,  "  clean  and  wholesome,  and  yer  purty  gowns 
ready  fur  ye,  ladies/' 

The  bath  was  at  first  declined,  but  when  they  were 
all  presently  strolling  beside  the  silvery  river  its  erl- 
king  peered  up  at  Gisela,  and  she  could  not  resist  his 
fascination.  From  childhood  she  had  passionately 
loved  the  water,  and  equaled  her  brothers  as  a 
swimmer  ;  now  her  soul,  which  had  become  feverish, 
cried  for  baptism  in  this  pure  flood.  Douglas  gave 
his  costume  to  Wentworth,  while  for  himself  the  witch 
had  to  conjure  a  dress  out  of  her  mysterious  universe, 
— somewhat  grotesque,  but  clean.  Mother  Collamer's 
house  had  two  rooms  for  their  preparations,  and  they 
soon  had  their  swim.  They  had  a  grand  match  across 
the  river  and  back,  which  Gisela  won. 

Another  victory  she  might  have  won  had  it  not  been 
already  hers.  If  there  were  coquetry  in  Gisela — and 
she  did  not  come  out  of  a  pious  tract — it  was  left 
behind  when  she  entered  the  water.  There  the  beau- 
tiful arms,  embracing  waves  pure  as  her  liquid  eyes, 
the  dimpled  chin  kissing  dimples  of  the  stream,  the 
radiant  face,  were  charmed  from  all  self-conscious- 
ness ;  in  ecstasy  of  a  love  as  yet  faintly  dreaming, 
Gisela  became  part  of  the  sunshine,  and  of  the  snowy 
cloudlets  to  which  she  looked  up  as  they  too  floated 
in  their  azure  depth  ;  in  that  hour  she  was  a  self- 
forgetting  child  again,  and  Penelope  appeared  the 


FAIR  DA  YS  AND  A    FEARSOME  NIGHT.      283 

elder.  In  this  southern  solitude  Wentworth  for  the 
first  time  beheld  in  one  maiden  the  form  of  Innocence 
and  face  of  her  sister,  Freedom.  No  last  shreds  from 
monastic  ages,  no  thought  for  past  or  future  more 
than  the  lily  is  haunted  by,  clung  to  this  naiad  of  the 
Rappahannock,  on  whom  no  eyes  looked  but  those  of 
purest  love. 

The  sun  was  nearly  set  when  they  mounted  their 
horses  ;  a  great  flame  overspread  the  West  to  light 
them  home  ;  the  note  of  the  whippoorwill  was  already 
heard.  Wentworth  and  Gisela  rode  quietly,  but  the 
others  dashed  on  ahead. 

"  We  shall  be  late,"  said  Wentworth. 

"  Fortunately  I  am  an  irresponsible  creature  about 
tea-time,  and  only  looked  for  when  I  arrive." 

"You  are  fortunate.  My  idea  of  happiness  is  to 
roam  without  any  string  tugging  to  pull  me  back  at 
this  time  or  that." 

"  I  have  snapped  several  such  strings,  and  advise 
you  to  snap  yours.  The  last  I  snapped  was  early  tea. 
I  haven't  managed  supper  yet,  for  papa  is  woe-begone 
if  we  are  not  all  at  supper." 

"  I'm  suffering  a  severe  pull  from  my  string  just 
now." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  I  must  leave  and  go  to  work." 

Gisela  was  grave  and  silent.  Several  times  she 
seemed  about  to  speak,  and  Wentworth  waited. 

"  Let's  have  a  gallop  !  "  she  presently  cried,  at  the 
same  time  touching  her  horse  sharply  with  the  whip. 

It  began  as  a  canter,  but  Gisela  again  and  again 
touched  her  horse,  which  became  excited  and  dashed 


284  PINE  AND  PALM. 

forward  at  full  speed.  At  last  a  gate  had  to  be 
entered  and  the  freak  ended.  While  Wentworth  was 
holding  open  the  gate  for  Gisela  to  ride  through,  a 
young  man  passed  by  on  a  fine  horse,  touched  his  hat 
to  Gisela,  cast  a  vexed  look  at  her  companion,  and 
rode  forward  on  a  canter. 

"It  is  George  Pinwell,"  said  Gisela,  "son  of  a  mill- 
owner." 

"  And  your  admirer." 

"  What  made  you  think  that  ?  " 

"  He  told  me  so  as  he  passed." 

"  He  didn't  say  a  word." 

"  Except  with  his  eyes." 

"  So  you  really  think  of  leaving  us  ?  " 

"Yes.  It  is  a  question  of  duty  or  pleasure,  and 
pleasure  must  give  way." 

"  Duty  or  pleasure.  Those  words  have  a  sort  of 
foreign  sound  to  me.  For  me  life  divides  itself  into 
happiness  and  necessity.  Happiness  is  my  religion  ; 
necessity  a  dark  unconscious  demon  which  I  pro- 
pitiate. As  for  '  duty,'  our  departed  parson  made  it 
mean  every  thing  disagreeable,  our  poor  Aunt  Dabney 
made  it  out  what  other  folks  wanted  us  to  do,  whether 
we  thought  it  wrong  or  right  ;  between  them  they 
scratched  the  word  out  of  my  dictionary." 

"  May  not  Duty  be  better  described  as  moral  neces- 
sity,— what  one  is  compelled  to,  not  from  without  but 
from  within  ? " 

"  You  know  we  shall  be  sorry  to  part  with  you  ;  you 
can  not  be  mistaken  about  that ;  but  a  judge's  daughter 
can  understand  the  noblesse  oblige  of  a  professional 
man.  Are  you  fond  of  the  law  ?  " 


FAIR  DA  YS  AND  A   FEARSOME  NIGHT.       285 

"  I  haven't  had  a  case  yet." 

"  Since  I've  grown  old  enough  to  be  interested  in 
papa's  decisions  1  do  not  think  quite  so  highly  as 
once  of  the  legal  profession.  Papa  lately  read  me 
something  about  the  ancient  wager  of  combat  out  of 
which  duelling  arose  ;  it  was  supposed  that  in  the 
combat  God  would  protect  the  right,  but  was  aban- 
doned because  he  did  not  seem  to  attend  duels 
regularly.  But  now  there  is  a  wager  of  wits.  It 
depends  on  a  trial  of  wits  between  Mr.  This  and  Mr. 
That  whether  Mr.  The-other  shall  be  strangled,  or 
some  baby's  estate  be  devoured  by  a  cormorant." 

"  One  of  these  days  we  may  have  female  lawyers, 
and  then — " 

"  The  legal  devices  will  be  more — more  devicious 
than  ever  (a  pun  !  I'll  tell  Doug  that).  Portia  used 
to  be  my  goddess,  but  I've  lived  to  discover  that  her 
law  was  as  bad  as  the  sneak  she  pleaded  for,  and  the 
fortune-hunter  she  married." 

"  If  you  are  ever  admitted  to  the  Bar  I  hope  you'll 
be  my— that  you  will  be  on  my  side  of  every  case." 

"  Ah,  that  will  be  far  away  in  Boston.  Well,  you 
must  go — I  know  that — and  make  your  career  among 
your  people.  That  is  both  your  necessity  and  happi- 
ness ;  things  rarely  one  in  this  big  world,  though  we 
sometimes  unite  them  in  our  small  sphere  at  The 
Palms." 

As  the  conversation  continued,  this  fair  lady  some- 
how appeared  to  Wentworth  as  one  eluding  him,  or 
passing  into  reservations  of  thought  and  feeling  where 
her  personality  was  intrenched.  The  fortress  might 
seem  to  be  air,  but  to  his  touch  it  was  adamant. 


2S6  PINE  AND  PALM. 

On  the  day  following  Judge  Stirling  requested  an 
interview  with  his  guest  in  his  library. 

"  Mr.  Wentworth,"  he  said,  "you  are  my  elder  son's 
friend.  As  we  get  older  we  use  that  word  '  friend  ' 
more  rarely.  You  are  his  friend.  I  feel  certain  you 
would  be  glad  to  do  Randolph  a  service." 

"  You  do  me  characteristic  justice.  Randolph  is 
rarely  absent  from  my  thoughts,  and  it  would  be  my 
happiness  to  serve  him." 

"  It  happens  that  he  is  far  away,  and  his  position 
here  under  a  cloud,  at  a  time  when  his  interests  require 
legal  attention.  A  valuable  property,  bequeathed  him 
on  arrival  at  majority,  has  become  involved  in  dis- 
putes, at  certain  points.  Randolph's  titles  are  clear 
to  my  own  mind,  but  of  course  can  not  be  decided  on 
by  his  father.  The  case  will  come  on  in  October. 
The  papers  are  numerous  and  require  careful  sifting ; 
there  must  be  examinations  in  Fairfax  clerk's  office 
and  elsewhere.  Randolph  is  here  only  by  power  of 
attorney,  which  I  can  confer.  There  is  no  attorney 
at  our  Bar  who  could  or  would  do  for  Randolph,  even 
for  the  heavy  sum  he  would  require  to  act  at  all,  what 
a  friend  can  do  for  him,  in  conjunction  with  his  father." 

"  You  can  not  know,"  cried  Wentworth,  grasping 
the  judge's  hand,  "  what  happiness  you  open  before 
me.  I  fear  I'm  hardly  sorry  enough  that  Randolph's 
interests  are  questioned,  so  glad  am  I  at  the  prospect 
of  working  for  him,  and  of  making  myself  useful  to 
you  and  your  family." 

"  It  will  bring  you  little  money  or  glory." 

"  That  makes  me  happier.  To  think  that  my  first 
law-work  should  be  for  him  ! " 


FAIR  DA  YS  AND  A  FEARSOME  NIGHT.     287 

"  Then  it  is  agreed  that  you  will  work  for  us.  If 
you  have  other  affairs  you  had  better  look  after  them, 
for  this  work  will  not  end  till  the  middle  of  Octo- 
ber." 

"  I  am  without  parents,  and  have  not  begun  prac- 
tice. I  live  on  an  income  left  by  my  father.  I  need 
not  leave  this  neighborhood.  No  doubt  I  can  procure 
lodgings  near  you." 

"  Near  me  !  you  must  live  beneath  this  roof  ;  your 
work  must  be  in  this  room." 

The  old  man  rose  up  and  walked  to  the  window, 
where  he  stood  for  a  few  moments,  looking  as  if  at 
the  sky  ;  at  length  he  came  slowly  back  and  stood 
before  Wentworth,  to  whom  he  spoke  in  a  low  tone. 

"  You  have  no  father, — take  me  !  " 

Never  before  had  Wentworth  been  so  moved  ;  he 
managed  presently  to  lift  his  eyes  to  the  benignant 
face  bent  over  him,  to  hold  out  his  hand,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  his  conscious  life  to  say — father  ! 

Wentworth  would  have  uttered  the  word  with  yet 
deeper  emotion  had  he  known  that,  after  he  had 
retired  the  night  before,  another  ghost  had  moved 
softly  through  the  house,  a  more  mature  ghost  than 
Penelope,  and  had  whispered  to  the  judge  that  his 
guest  was  about  to  leave. 

"  We  should  all  be  sorry  ;  we  have  our  summer 
schemes  for  his  amusement  ;  but  he  is  not  the  man  to 
remain  unless  it  could  be  made  a  favor  to  you.  Can't 
you  get  him  to  do  something  for  you,  papa  ?  He's  a 
lawyer,  can't  you  find  some  documents  requiring 
arrangement — or  something  ?  " 

"  Gisela,  this  man  is  stealing  your  heart." 


288  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  How  preposterous,  papa  !  I  am  only  grateful  to 
him  for  Randolph's  sake.  Why,  I'm  two  years  older 
than  he  is.  I  feel  sure  he  has  his  love  affair  cut  and 
dried  long  ago.  Never  fear  !  So  long  as  my  dear  old 
dad  lives,  I  live  at  his  side." 

"  Well,  child,  I  will  tell  you — to  go  no  further — that 
there  are  some  serious  legal  questions  affecting  Ran- 
dolph's property  about  which  I  had  resolved  to  con- 
sult his  friend,  and  if  he  will  remain  he  may  render 
important  assistance." 

"  Oh,  papa,  the  very  thing  !  " 

A  soft  kiss,  and  the  ghost  vanished.  Of  this  Went- 
worth  never  knew.  On  the  other  hand  there  were 
certain  things  Gisela  did  not  know  :  for  instance,  her 
northern  friend's  eccentric  views  on  the  advantages 
of  a  wife  being  somewhat  older  than  her  husband. 
Had  she  known  this  she  might  not  have  been  so  free 
with  their  guest.  Whatever  feeling  may  have  been  in 
her  secret  heart  she  did  not  draw  out  for  analysis  : 
she  arranged  her  theory  of  a  right  relation  between 
Randolph's  friend  and  herself  with  the  possibility  of 
marriage  left  out  ;  had  such  contingency  as  his  falling 
in  love  with  her  suggested  itself,  she  would  even  have 
secured  his  departure.  When  it  was  arranged  that 
he  should  remain,  it  was  the  natural  outcome  of  her 
theory  that  she  could  harmlessly  enjoy  his  friendship, 
even  if  she  must  pay  the  cost  in  sighs  when  he  had 
gone. 

"  Now  then  you  are  our  brother,"  she  said,  giving 
him  her  hand  ;  "  you  take  Randolph's  room,  attend  to 
his  affairs,  adopt  us,  but  without  replacing  him  in  our 
hearts — you  bring  him  nearer.  But  remember,  you 


FAIR  DA  YS  AND  A  FEARSOME  NIGHT.      289 

are  my  younger  brother — Randolph  told  us  your  age, 
— and  elder  sisters  are  tyrannical." 

"  I  unhesitatingly  submit,"  said  Wentworth,  with  a 
courtly  bow,  kissing  her  hand. 

"  I  declare  !  "  exclaimed  Pen,  just  entering  ;  "  if 
you  oughtn't  to  do  that  at  the  Tournament  ball,  Gisela 
as  Queen  Elizabeth  and  you  as  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  !  " 

"  Excellent  !  "  cried  Gisela  ;  "  Pen,  you  shall  go  to 
the  ball  for  saying  that." 

They  chattered  on,  and  when  Douglas  came  in 
every  thing  was  chattered  over  again.  To  crown 
their  joy  a  letter  came  from  Randolph,  written  in  a 
cabin  in  Kansas,  saying  that  he  hoped  to  be  within 
reach  of  a  Christmas  dinner  at  The  Palms.  When  the 
judge  brought  in  this  letter  Pen  began  to  caper,  and 
Wentworth  seizing  her  waltzed  until  they  were 
exhausted. 

It  may  have  occurred  to  the  reader  that  the  atten- 
tion given  by  this  abolitionist  to  the  subject  that 
brought  him  South  had  not  been  absorbing,  during 
his  stay  at  The  Palms.  The  estate  consisted  of  over  a 
thousand  acres,  on  which  were  nearly  a  hundred  and 
fifty  negroes, — considerably  more  than  were  needed, 
but  Judge  Stirling  would  not  sell  a  negro.  Went- 
worth had  roamed  a  good  deal  about  the  farm — often 
with  Pen,  pet  of  the  servants — had  talked  with  them 
in  the  melon-patches,  and  eaten  whitest  heath-peaches 
selected  by  them  ;  he  had  remarked  their  content- 
ment, and  understood  why  Randolph  had  resented 
accusations  against  slaveholders.  His  general  views 
of  slavery  had  not  been  consciously  changed,  but  the 
subject  was  daily  becoming  more,  remote.  His  ideas 


290  PINE  AND  PALM. 

of  the  method  of  dealing  with  the  institution,  with 
master  and  slave,  had  been  affected  more  than  he 
knew  by  residence  on  Leroy  Island  :  his  mental 
attitude  had  altered  too ;  instead  of  dwelling  on 
shades  of  the  picture  he  was  detecting  its  lights.  One 
anti-slavery  superstition  of  his  had  utterly  perished, — 
that  the  negroes  of  the  South,  as  a  race,  were  pining 
for  freedom.  Judge  Stirling,  unwilling  to  part  families 
or  countenance  slavedealers,  had  to  feed  and  clothe 
many  more  negroes  than  could  repay  him  by  labor, 
and  once  Went  worth  heard  him  say  that  if  he  should 
hear  some  morning  that  fifty  had  run  away  he  should 
feel  as  if  an  estate  had  been  left  him. 

One  day  a  brother  judge  visited  him  at  The  Palms, 
and  several  eminent  lawyers  were  invited  to  dinner, 
which  was  an  hour  later  than  usual  and  prepared  with 
much  care.  Penelope  was  not  present,  and  Gisela 
was  the  only  lady  at  the  table.  The  guests  expressed 
satisfaction  at  meeting  a  member  of  the  Boston  Bar, 
and  the  conversation  steered  clear  of  the  perilous 
issue  between  North  and  South  until  toward  the  close 
of  the  dinner.  Gisela  had  taken  care  that  no  "  fire- 
eaters  "  should  be  invited,  but  only  old-school  Vir- 
ginians, whose  sentiments  concerning  "  slavery  in  the 
abstract  "  were  inherited  from  Washington  and  Jef- 
ferson,— though  they  had  developed  a  comfortable 
modus  vivendi  with  the  actual  institution,  and  resisted 
all  interference  with  it.  Gisela  was  a  little  nervous 
when  the  subject  was  raised,  and  made  an  ineffectual 
attempt  to  give  the  conversation  another  turn.  It  pro- 
ceeded affably  enough,  however,  and  Wentworth 
received  from  the  head  of  the  table  a  grateful  glance 


FAIR  DAYS  AND  A  FEARSOME  NIGHT.      291 

for  the  tact  he  displayed.  He  hardly  deserved  it,  for 
he  felt  but  languid  interest  in  the  conversation,  being 
held  by  the  vision  of  that  superb  being  in  her  faultless 
costume, — the  grandly  simple  architecture  of  the 
woman,  not  cold  enough  to  be  classic  but  rather  of 
mystical  beauty.  At  length,  at  the  close  of  the 
dinner,  it  became  necessary  for  the  Bostonian  to  say 
something  on  the  subject. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Judge  Stirling,  addressing  the  table 
through  his  brother  judge,  "  we  can  not  wonder  that 
people  exaggerate  distant  evils  :  northern  people  hear 
of  a  few  instances  of  cruelty  to  negroes  and  multiply 
them  a  millionfold,  whereas  if  they  lived  among  us 
they  would  realize  that  such  things  are  exceptional. 
My  Boston  friend  here  has  just  passed  nearly  a  year 
in  the  South,  and,  though  we  have  not  conferred  on 
the  matter,  I  doubt  if  he  has  observed  many  instances 
of  such  inhumanity." 

"  I  have  witnessed  few  indeed,"  said  Wentworth  ; 
"  on  the  contrary  I  have  seen  enough  kindness  toward 
that  race,  and  comfort  among  them,  and  enough  jus- 
tice among  their  masters,  to  modify  my " 

"  Papa  and  gentlemen,  will  you  excuse  me  if  I  now 
retire  ? " 

As  Gisela  suddenly  rose  with  these  words  all 
present  stood  and  bowed.  Wentworth,  whose  words 
had  been  interrupted,  looked  straight  at  her  and  saw 
lightning  in  her  eye  ;  superb  still,  but  coldly  statu- 
esque, her  neck  and  shoulders  turned  to  marble,  she 
bowed  and  moved  out  of  the  room.  What  could  have 
occurred  ?  It  was  indeed  a  custom  at  The  Palms  for 
ladies  to  retire  from  the  table,  leaving  gentlemen  to 


292  PINE  AND  PALM. 

enjoy  their  coffee  and  cigars,  but  Gisela  had  gone 
prematurely,  and  while  a  guest  was  speaking.  Went- 
worth  cast  a  sharp  glance  at  the  gentlemen  who  had 
sat  next  her,  having  a  suspicion  that  one  of  them  had 
taken  too  much  wine  and  forgotten  himself. 

When  the  guests  were  leaving,  Gisela,  now  with  Pen 
at  her  side,  parted  from  them  in  the  parlor.  She  was 
still  pale  and  worried.  When  all  had  gone  Wentworth 
expressed  a  fear  that  she  was  not  feeling  well  ;  but 
she  only  answered.  "  Forgive  me,  I  can  not  speak 
now,"  and  with  a  strange  look — was  it  pity  or  anger, 
or  both  ? — she  passed  wearily  out  of  the  room  and  did 
not  appear  during  the  evening. 

A  weight  was  on  Wentworth's  heart  ;  a  dull  incom- 
prehensible care  sat  beside  him  through  the  evening, 
and  lay  beside  him  on  his  bed.  He  ascribed  his  sleep- 
lessness to  the  heat,  but  his  pain  warned  him  it  was 
not  that. 

Was  it  in  a  dream  ?  He  thought  he  heard  a  low 
knock  at  his  door.  It  was  past  midnight  ;  he  had  been 
the  last  to  retire  and  could  not  imagine  that  any 

other  in  the  house  was  awake.  Gisela  might  be  ill in 

danger  !  He  sat  up  in  bed  and  listened,  breathlessly. 
The  knock  came  again,  gentle  but  unmistakable  ;  it 
sounded  as  if  requesting  quietness,  and  he  stepped 
softly  to  the  door,  opened  it  a  little  way  and  peered 
out.  It  was  Gisela,— her  eyes  red  with  weeping  and 
expanding  with  painful  agitation. 

"  Put  on  clothes,"  she  whispered,  "  but  no  shoes. 
Take  this  candle.  I  will  wait  for  you." 

Wentworth  quickly  reappeared,  and  Gisela,  bare- 
foot,  moved  softly  before  him  along  the  corridor,  down 


FAIR  DA  YS  AND  A   FEARSOME  NIGHT.      29$ 

little  flights  of  steps  and  up  others,  without  uttering  a 
word,  until  she  reached  her  own  room.  She  noise- 
lessly opened  the  door  and  closed  it  after  they  had 
entered. 

"  You  said  you  had  not  witnessed  the  cruelties  of 
slavery — look  there  !  " 

She  pointed  with  one  hand,  holding  forward  the 
candle  with  the  other,  and  Wentworth  saw  on  the 
floor  what  at  first  seemed  a  heap  of  clothing;  but  as 
he  gazed  a  head  was  raised  from  the  dusky  mass,  a 
young  and  handsome  but  now  haggard  quadroon  face 
was  uplifted,  and  large  plaintive  eyes  stared  wonder- 
ingly  at  him. 

"  Look  there  !  "  said  Gisela,  her  bare  arm  pointing 
like  that  of  an  avenger  ;  "  you  may  see  what  you  have 
not  seen — slavery.  There  are  no  polite  gentlemen  here 
to  hoodwink  you  :  look  !  It  is  no  worse  than  what 
these  eyes  have  seen  many  a  time.  That  woman, 
Alice  Ross,  has  some  education,  I  taught  her  myself 
— in  secret,  because  it  is  unlawful:  she  has  a  heart ; 
she  was  married  a  few  months  ago  to  a  man  she  loves 
as  much  as  your  Boston  girl  can  love;  he  and  she  are 
to  be  sold  at  the  Woodward  auction  to-morrow,  and 
parted  forever." 

The  poor  woman  began  to  sob,  and  Wentworth  gazed 
on  her;  then  he  looked  up  to  Gisela,  whose  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  him — in  them,  visible  through  her  tears, 
pity  and  anger. 

"  Can  nothing  be  done  to  stop  this  business  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Nothing.  I  only  brought  you  to  see  one  of  the 
victims  you  are  deserting.  I  could  only  weep  for 


294  PINE  AND  PALM. 

your  weakness,  but  God  has  rebuked  it.  I  lay  sleep- 
less with  sorrow  that  a  man  should  bend  from  his 
cause  ;  and  that  woman  was  groping  through  the  dark 
woods  by  midnight,  and  called  beneath  my  window.  I 
am  her  only  friend.  Now  that  you  have  seen  her  you 
can  return  to  your  repose." 

"  I  accept  your  reproach  and  scorn,"  said  Went- 
worth,  utterly  humiliated,  "  but  I  am  not  worth  a 
minute's  notice  in  the  presence  of  this  woman's  dis- 
tress. I  will  go." 

He  bowed  low,  his  face  on  fire,  but  when,  at  the 
door,  he  turned  a  last  look  on  the  two  women,  he  was 
pale  as  death.  That  piteous  look  of  his  smote  Gisela 
with  a  horror  at  what  she  had  done  which  for  a 
moment  paralyzed  her.  She  presently  followed  him 
hurriedly,  but  it  was  too  late.  She  could  only  pause 
before  his  door — the  commonplace  wooden  door — and 
reflect  what  forces  must  be  locking  it  fast,  for  her 
to  return  without  rushing  in  to  shed  her  fast-falling 
tears  at  the  feet  of  the  man  she  had  so  cruelly  treated. 

Gisela  sat  for  a  few  moments  on  a  step  in  the  cor- 
ridor, then  returned  to  her  room,  where  for  some  time 
she  was  occupied  in  making  up  a  bundle  of  clothing 
for  Alice.  The  day  was  faintly  breaking  when,  with  a 
last  kiss,  she  parted  with  her  humble  friend  at  the 
kitchen  door,  and  watched  till,  with  a  despairing  wave 
of  the  hand,  she  blended  with  shadows. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

A  GOOD  DEED  SHINES  FAR  IN  A  NAUGHTY  WORLD. 

"QEHIND  a  barn,  which  supplied  shade  for  a 
fj  "  shady  "  scene,  a  score  of  men  gathered  to  bid 
for  the  human  stock  of  the  Woodward  estate,  in  chan- 
cery for  payment  of  its  late  owner's  debts.  These 
bidders  were  not  southern  gentry,  but  its  agents,  its 
left  hand  doing  sinister  work  which  its  fair  right  must 
not  know.  The  company  looked  askance  at  one  man 
who  joined  them;  he  was  not  of  them  or  known  to 
them. 

The  silent  trembling  chattels  were  successively 
sold,  at  prices  ranging  from  five  hundred  to  a  thousand 
dollars — until  Alice  Ross  was  brought  forward.  She 
did  not  look  her  best,  being  haggard  from  causes 
known  to  but  one  of  the  company.  The  bidding  lan- 
guidly reached  six  hundred  and  there  stopped. 

"  A  fine  healthy  young  woman,  gentlemen — a  little 
peeky  just  now  but  worth  a  good  deal  more  than  is 
bid.  Speak  up,  gentlemen  !  Six  hundred  bid." 

••  And  ten,"  said  the  stranger,  bringing  all  eyes  on 
him. 

"  Twenty." 

"  Thirty." 

"  Forty." 

There  were  whispers    and    murmurs    among    the 


296  PINE  AND  PALM. 

dealers.  Angry  glances  were  cast  at  the  interloper, 
who  perceived  that  they  were  not  competitors,  but  a 
ring  for  dividing  the  negroes  among  them  at  pre-ar- 
ranged prices.  He  had  to  fight  a  combination,  and  the 
bidding  for  Alice  mounted  to  a  thousand.  This 
was  the  stranger's  bid,  and  then  the  dealers  began  to 
sneer. 

"  A  thousand  and  ten." 

"What  are  you  a-bidding  for,  Snellings,  when  a 
gent's  got  his  eye  on  a  fancy  lot  ? " 

"  Ha-ha,  he-he  !  " 

"  And  twenty." 

"  And  thirty,"  cried  a  bidder  angrily. 

"  There's  Bob  now.  Don't  interfere  with  the  course 
o'  true  love,  Bob  !  " 

"  Mr.  Auctioneer,"  said  the  stranger,  "  I  desire  to 
make  my  bids  without  remark.  If  not,  I  can  only 
leave,  and  report  to  the  court  that  the  sale  was  not 
fair." 

u  Quite  right,  sir  !  Gentlemen,  I  must  insist  that  no 
offensive — " 

"  Who  is  the  fellow,  anyhow  ?  "  cried  an  enraged 
bidder. 

"  None  of  your  business,  Mr.  Sands  !  "  shouted  the 
frightened  auctioneer,  "  and  if  you  can't  behave  you 
can  go  !  " 

The  bidding  now  proceeded  quietly,  the  dealers 
making  their  bids  spitefully,  till  the  stranger  made  a 
bid  of  thirteen  hundred  and  turned  to  go.  A  bidder 
had  added  "  and  twenty,"  but  when  the  previous  bid- 
der still  moved  away  he  became  alarmed. 

"  Are  you  all  done,  gentlemen  ?    Once — twice — " 


A   GOOD  DEED  SHINES  FAR.  297 

"  Stop  !  I  take  back  my  last  bid — the  man  may 
have  her." 

"  Can't  be  done,  Mr.  Crupps,  you've  bid  and  must 
stand  to  it.  Once — twice — " 

"  I'll  take  the  bid  off  Mr.  Crupps's  hands  if  he 
wants,"  said  the  stranger. 

"  Then  it's  your  bid,  sir.  Is  any  more  bid  for  this 
lot  ?  Going — once — twice — thrice — gone  !  " 

After  the  sale  of  Alice,  the  dealers  got  off  a  little 
way  and  held  an  excited  consultation,  causing  some 
delay. 

"  Gentlemen,"  called  the  auctioneer  loudly, — "  let 
me  have  your  attention,  if  you  please  !  I  have  to 
announce  that  the  next  lot,  97  in  the  catalogue,  is 
withdrawn.  There  was  some  question  about  the 
man's  ownership  by  the  estate,  and  it  was  agreed  he 
should  pass  by  private  arrangement  to  Mrs.  Wood- 
ward's brother,  Colonel  Lewis,  of  Harper's  Ferry.  So 
we'll  now  take  lot  98." 

Alas,  the  omitted  "  lot  "  was  Darnley  Ross.  After 
all  Wentworth  had  not  saved  poor  Alice's  husband. 
He  waited  till  the  sale  ended,  paid  for  his  purchase 
with  a  check  on  the  Warrenton  Bank,  and  started  out 
to  prepare  his  buggy.  As  he  did  so,  he  observed  the 
man  Crupps,  who  had  withdrawn  his  bid,  talking 
excitedly  with  another,  whose  face  he  remembered — 
George  Pinwell.  When  presently  alone  with  Alice  she 
informed  him  that  she  had  friends  with  whom  she 
could  stay  for  a  time, — Uncle  Josh  Williams  and  his 
wife,  belonging  to  Judge  Stirling  and  living  at  a 
remote  part  of  the  estate,  to  which  she  could  direct 
him.  They  had  driven  a  few  hundred  yards  when 


fipS  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Mr.  Crupps  stepped  out  of  some  bushes  and  asked  for 
a  few  words. 

"I'm  sorry  I  let  that  bid  go  now,"  he  said  with  a 
smirk,  "  and  wouldn't  mind  giving  you  twenty  or 
thirty  dollars  for  your  bargain.  Fact  is,  there's  a 
gent  considibly  set  on  getting  the  gal,  and — " 

"  He'll  not  get  her,"  said  Wentworth,  with  a  vicious 
lash  on  his  horse. 

Alice  said  her  husband  had  been  taken  to  Harper's 
Ferry  the  night  before  without  her  seeing  him. 
Wentworth  consoled  her  with  a  promise  that  she 
should  follow  him  to  that  neighborhood. 

"  I  didn't  know  there  was  but  one  angel  in  the 
world,"  said  Alice,  "  but  now  I  know  there's  two." 

"  There's  but  one,  my  girl,  and  that  is  the  lady  we 
saw  last  night." 

Uncle  Josh  Williams — who  with  his  family  received 
their  friend  Alice  with  great  delight, — after  consulta- 
tion about  Darnley,  drove  with  Wentworth  to  see  a 
free  negro,  who,  he  said,  could  discover  any  thing 
about  distant  negroes.  This  was  Caleb  Stone, — 
squatter  on  a  bit  of  '  No-man's-land,' — who  was 
instructed  to  learn  whether  the  new  owner  of  Darnley 
would  part  with  him,  or,  if  not,  whether  a  place  could 
be  found  near  him  for  his  wife  ;  who  would  be  given 
freedom  and  a  few  hundred  dollars.  Having  advised 
caution  and  given  the  men  money,  Wentworth  left 
them  too  much  dazed  to  thank  this  providence  which 
had  surprised  them,  and  drove  his  buggy  back  to  its 
livery-stable  in  Warrenton. 

Meanwhile  consternation  had  prevailed  at  The 
Palms.  Gisela,  having  over-slept  the  breakfast  hour, 


A   GOOD  DEED   SHttfES  FAR.  2Q9 

hastened  to  the  library  with  her  carefully  prepared 
apology,  only  to  find  her  father  mystified  by  Went- 
worth's  non-appearance  at  his  urgent  work.  When 
he  did  not  return  for  dinner,  wildest  fears  took  pos- 
session of  her.  He  had  apparently  taken  nothing 
from  his  room,  and  had  gone  off  after  a  hurried  break- 
fast without  speaking  to  any  one.  Gisela  watched  at 
her  window  through  the  long,  long  afternoon  ;  and 
when,  at  dusk,  she  saw  him  walk  in  at  the  front  gate, 
hastened  to  his  room  and  awaited  him  there.  With 
confused  look  and  agitated  voice  she  began  her  peti- 
tion for  forgiveness,  but  when  he  took  her  hand  and 
said  :  "  I  have  bought  Alice,"  she  sank  on  her  knees, 
silently  clasping  his  hand,  which  was  wet  with  her 
tears. 

Caleb's  negro-telegraph  soon  brought  tidings  that 
Darnley's  master  would  not  sell  him — "  there's  some 
of  the  family  blood  in  the  boy," — that  he  had  a  good 
home,  that  Alice  could  find  a  residence  at  Harper's 
Ferry  by  calling  on  a  free  negro  named  Dory  Curtis. 
Darnley,  it  was  added,  was  in  great  joy  about  the 
.news  from  his  wife,  and  prayed  God's  blessing  on  the 
gentleman  and  Miss  Gisela.  He  hoped  to  thank  them 
in  heaven  if  he  never  had  a  chance  to  do  it  in  this 
world.  Some  days  later,  Alice,  with  well-filled  trunk 
and  money  enough  to  make  her  feel  like  a  princess, 
was  on  her  way  to  Harper's  Ferry,  with  a  pass  from 
her  purchaser. 

This  matter  happily  settled,  the  young  people  at 
The  Palms  gave  their  attention  to  preparation  for  the 
festivities  at  Fauquier  Springs.  For  some  time,  indeed, 
quaint  pieces  of  brocade  and  other  relics  of  grand- 


300  PINE  AND  PALM. 

maternal  finery  had  been  visible  about  the  house,  and 
one.  day  Wentworth  found  a  Walter  Raleigh  suit  in 
his  room,  beside  an  ordinary  one,  which  had  disap- 
peared for  a  time  from  his  wardrobe.  Rooms  had  been 
engaged  for  them  at  the  Sulphur  Springs  Hotel,  and 
a  more  cheerful  party  could  not  be  imagined  than  the 
four  who  drove  from  The  Palms  on  the  eve  of  Tour- 
nament-day. Pen  darted  about  like  quicksilver,  till 
Douglas  threatened  to  put  her  with  the  driver.  He 
was  answered  with  a  hug  and  kiss  ;  then  she  kissed 
Gisela,  and  when  Wentworth  wept  bitterly  because  he 
wasn't  kissed,  called  him  her  "  poor  'ittle  darling— he 
sail  have  a  kiss  " — while  Gisela  cried  "  Oh,  shocking," 
and  hid  her  face.  Then  they  stopped  for  Wentworth 
and  Pen  to  gather  chinquepins,  and  farewell-to-sum- 
mer, or  other  flowers.  Pen  was  standing  up  in  the 
open  carriage  and  twining  Wentworth's  hat  with  flow- 
ers, when  two  men  on  horseback  made  way  for  the 
carriage,  after  passing  whom  the  Stirlings  broke  into 
laughter.  One  was  a  colporteur  and  had  thrown  some 
tracts  into  the  carriage,  the  other  was  red-faced  Mr. 
Lawson  who  had  once  led  Pen  to  the  Mourners'  Bench. 
Wentworth  pretended  to  be  mystified  by  the  laughter 
and  Pen's  blushes  ;  but  when  presently  the  others  got 
out  for  pawpaws  he  confided  to  Gisela  his  knowledge 
of  the  Camp-meeting  scene. 

On  occasion  of  its  midsummer  festival  the  Fauquier 
resort  was  very  gay.  The  hotel  dinners  and  suppers 
were  banquets.  The  companies  promenading  along 
the  colonnade,  or  distributing  themselves  through  the 
embowered  walks  in  front,  made  a  fairylike  scene 
under  glimpses  of  the  moon  through  a  canopy  of  foli- 


A    GOOD  DEED  SHINES  FAR.  301 

age.  Pen  was  the  first  to  grow  somnolent,  rbut  she 
found  a  bat  in  her  bedroom,  which  Wentworth  and 
Douglas  were  both  required  to  expel.  When  Went- 
worth was  returning  from  this  exploit  to  the  veranda, 
where  he  had  left  Gisela  alone,  he  saw  a  gentleman 
beside  her.  The  two  were  at  the  end  of  the  veranda, 
where  it  was  rather  dark,  and  Wentworth  loitered. 
He  did  not  recognize  Gisela's  companion  till  he  sud- 
denly left  her  and  presently  passed  him  with  an  angry 
scowl.  He  saw  that  it  was  George  Pinwell,  pallid  and 
furious,  and  a  certain  sympathy  shot  from  his  heart 
to  the  poor  fellow  who  was  leaving  such  a  prize  as 
Gisela.  Had  he  answered  the  scowl  at  the  moment 
it  would  have  been  to  say — "  we  are  in  the  same  sink- 
ing boat,  so  let  us  not  quarrel."  For  Wentworth  now 
felt  certain  that  Gisela  could  never  be  his  wife  ;  she 
had  built  up  her  whole  relation  with  him  on  a  differ- 
ent basis  ;  she  was  elder-sisterly  at  times,  at  others  a 
child  at  his  knee,  but  always  so  free  in  his  presence, 
so  businesslike,  so  careless  of  the  impression  she 
might  make,  that  the  possibility  of  any  nearer  relation 
between  them  had  plainly  never  entered  her  mind. 

"  Poor  fellow/'  said  Wentworth,  resuming  his  seat 
beside  Gisela. 

"  Did  you  kill  him  ? "  she  asked  calmly— it  was  too 
dark  for  her  expression  to  be  seen. 

"  Kill  him  !  why  do  you  jest  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  know  you  had  so  much  sensibility." 

"  Yes,  I  have.  Any  man  in  love  moves  my  sym- 
pathy." 

"  Gracious  !  who  are  you  talking  about  ?" 

"  Mr.  Pinwell." 


302  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  Oh  dear,  I  was  thinking  about  the  bat  !  " 

Having  received  satisfactory  assurance  that  she  and 
Pen  were  secure  from  bats  for  the  night,  Gisela  asked 
Wentworth  the  cause  of  his  compassion  for  Mr.  Pin- 
well. 

"  He  loves  you  and  you  do  not  love  him,"  said 
Wentworth. 

"  You  do  not  know  him  ;  he  would  like  to  put  a 
brass  collar  round  my  neck  with  his  name  in  full  on  it, 
he  would  like  to  use  our  connexion  to  rise  higher  in 
society  than  the  Pinwells  soar  ;  but  he  is  incapable 
of  love,  because  inherently  mean.  Your  girl,  Alice 
Ross,  could  tell  you  a  story  about  him  which  would 
prevent  your  ever  associating  his  name  with  mine." 

"  Our  connexion  !  "  The  words  were  proud,  and 
Wentworth's  heart  trembled.  Had  not  the  half-dark- 
ness veiled  her  expression  he  might  have  recognized 
that  infinite  contempt  for  Pinwell's  motives  was  con- 
sistent with  utmost  humility.  In  fact,  Gisela's  fault 
was  deficiency  of  self-esteem.  Before  Wentworth,  to 
whom  she  knelt  when  he  bought  Alice  Ross,  she 
remained  kneeling  ;  had  she  seen  into  his  heart  as 
they  now  sat  on  the  veranda  she  might  have  felt  some 
pain  at  finding  a  lover  in  place  of  a  demigod. 

"  Associating  his  name  with  mine  !  "  These  too 
were  proud  words,  and  Wentworth's  heart  sank  ;  but 
it  was  with  self-reproach.  He  remembered  that  he 
had  seen  Pinwell  with  Crupps  just  before  that  slave- 
dealer  had  tried  to  buy  Alice  from  him  for  "  a  gent 
set  on  getting  the  gal,"  the  brutality  of  the 
offer  in  the  girl's  presence  having  angered  him.  He 
did  not  know,  however,  that  Pinwell  had  dogged  his 


A    GOOD  DEED  SHINES  FAR.  3°3 

buggy  that  day  until  he  saw  him  enter  the  house  of  a 
free  negro  suspected  of  connivance  with  escaping 
slaves.  Another  thing  Wentworth  did  not  know — 
that  jealous  rage  had  just  impelled  Pinwell  to  inform 
Gisela  that  he  had  seen  her  "  Boston  friend  "  driving 
about  the  country  with  a  pretty  colored  girl ;  being 
thereupon  ordered  by  the  lady  to  leave  her  instantly 
and  never  dare  approach  her  again.  The  dusk  had 
enabled  Gisela  to  conceal  her  agitation  and  meet 
Wentworth  after  the  bat  exploit  in  the  merry  vein 
that  sounded  inconsiderate.  But  even  in  the  dark- 
ness he  saw  the  flash  of  her  eye  as  she  uttered  those 
final  words.  An  oppressive  silence  followed.  He 
felt  that  the  incident  had  removed  Gisela  further  from 
him.  He  had,  in  thought,  associated  her  with  a  base 
fellow  ;  it  was  an  indignity  from  which,  she  must  feel, 
a  fine  instinct  would  have  saved  her.  He  longed  to 
do  her  justice — and  himself. 

"Gisela/'  he  said,  "your  life  with  such  a  father, and 
such  brothers,  has  raised  your  standard  of  male  human- 
ity so  high  that  other  mortals  toil  after  it  in  vain." 

"  I  am  not  conscious  of  it  ;  but  whatever  my  stand- 
ard, it  matters  little  to  Fauquier  mortals.  Douglas 
would  fight  any  man  under  sixty  who  came  too  close 
to  us,  and  my  affections  are  lavished  on  the  grand- 
fathers of  the  neighborhood." 

"  What  !   Do  you  mean  you  never  had  a  lover  ?  " 

"Walter,  the  dim  moonshine  invites  confidences 
sometimes,  but  at  others,  as  Bottom  found,  it  causes 
an  exposition  of  sleep,  and  makes  one  a  donkey  :  that 
is  my  case  now  ;  I  am  yawning,  and  shall  presently 
bray." 


304  PINE  AND  PALM. 

u  Gisela,  I  never  contradict  a  lady,  but  you  were 
never  wider  awake  in  your  life." 

"Oh-ah-h.  What  was  that  last  remark?  I  was  just 
dozing  off." 

"  Actress ! " 

"  Sweet  dreams,  Walter  !  "  she  cried,  leaping  up 
with  a  burst  of  laughter. 

Gone  !  A  moonlit  cloudlet  of  white,  with  infantine 
face  laughing  through  it,  flitted  to  the  nearest  of  the 
little  porches  bordering  the  grounds,  and  vanished, 
leaving  the  puzzled  youth  alone  with  the  waning  light, 
the  dreamy  nocturne  of  the  frogs,  and  unanswered  who 
of  an  owl.  He  wandered  beneath  the  trees  till  the 
last  window  of  the  hotel  was  darkened,  then  passed  to 
his  room.  "  I  can  not  sleep,"  he  said,  but  listened  to 
the  serenade  of  a  whippoorwill,  and  sank  into  slum- 
ber so  profound  that  breakfast  gongs  failed  to  break 
it.  At  nine  he  ate  the  remnants  of  a  past  meal  with 
sauce  of  suggestions  from  Pen,  abetted  by  Gisela,  that 
he  should  appear  at  the  ball  as  one  of  the  Seven 
Sleepers. 

The  Tournament,  despite  an  occasional  tendency 
to  the  grotesque,  was  a  brilliant  scene.  The  young 
men  rode  fine  horses,  tilted  at  ring  pendent  over  grassy 
lane,  and  when  successful  bowed  with  pride  before 
the  queen  and  her  court  on  platform  of  purple  and 
gold.  The  victorious  Ivanhoe  of  the  occasion  was  no 
other  than  George  Pinwell,  who  was  crowned  amid 
acclamations  by  the  queen— a  stately  belle  fron  Staun- 
ton.  This  conquering  hero  was  escorted  to  the  hotel 
in  grand  procession  of  knights  and  ladies,  and  the 


A    GOOD   DEED  SHINE'S  FAR.  305 

rest  of  the  afternoon  was  given  up  to  the  promenade, 
and  the  strains  of  a  military  band. 

The  grounds  were  brilliantly  lighted  for  the/^  of 
the  evening ;  arches  of  many-colored  lanterns 
stretched  between  the  trees  and  the  hotel  columns. 
The  lower  rooms  were  decorated  and  thrown  open 
for  the  dance.  All  their  picturesque  characters  had 
stepped  from  the  pages  of  Scott  and  Byron.  Douglas 
was  a  Corsair,  Penelope  a  piquant  Pocahontas.  When 
Gisela,  as  a  naiad,  her  white  dress  shimmering  with 
silver  threads,  entered  the  room  leaning  on  the  arm 
of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  in  his  courtly  velvet,  the 
noisy  room  became  still.  Two  handsomer  figures 
never  appeared  even  at  the  Springs,  so  famous  for 
summer  beaux  and  beauties.  They  stopped  to  greet 
the  Edens,  and  Wentworth  was  introduced  to  several 
agreeable  ladies  with  them.  His  intimacy  with  the 
great  family  of  Stirlings,  fabulous  rumors  of  his 
wealth,  his  fine  looks  and  manners,  made  Wentworth 
a  lion, — not  to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  all  gallant 
Southrons  present,  and,  as  we  may  easily  guess, 
decidedly  to  the  dissatisfaction  of  victorious  Ivanhoe. 
Gisela  danced  with  many  gentlemen,  and  evidently 
enjoyed  her  dances, — floating  in  the  waltz  as  if  her 
naiad  dress  were  again  in  eddies  of  the  Rappahannock. 
She  was  swiftly  surrounded  by  admirers.  A  "  rising 
young  professor  "  from  Charlotteville  was  "  devoted," 
and  managed  to  secure  two  dances  and  a  promenade  in 
the  portico  with  her.  Sir  Walter  had  then  only  got 
one,  and  consoled  himself  by  galloping  with  Pocahon- 
tas till  he  was  exhausted,  and  wondered  she  wasn't. 

v  I  only  get  tired  standing  still,"  said  Poqahontas, 


30(5  PINE  AND  PALM. 

«  but  I  do  wish  somebody  would  be  about  to  kill 

somebody  with  a  tomahawk,  so  that  I  could  save  him." 

"  Well,  whom  shall  I  kill  ? "  asked  Sir  Walter. 

"Not  him,"  said  Pen,  indignantly,  as  Pinwell 
passed — "  I  wouldn't  save  him." 

"  What  have  you  against  him  ?  " 

"  I  never  could  bear  him,  and  I  just  now  heard  him 
say  something  horrid  about — somebody  I — know.  He 
didn't  know  I  was  behind  him.  After  that  he  had  the 
impudence  to  ask  me  to  dance." 

The  masquerade  meant  to  last  through  the  night. 
Conspiring  mammas  and  chaperons  understood  it, 
and  slipped  off  for  naps,  watching  each  other's  charges 
by  relays.  At  about  one  o'clock  Sir  Walter  had  a 
glorious  waltz  with  the  naiad,  after  which  they  strolled 
out  under  the  starlight,  for  the  moon  had  gone  down 
and  the  lanterns  were  flickering  into  extinction.  They 
strolled  as  far  as  the  great  stone  basin  in  which  the 
fountain  splashes,  and  seated  themselves  there. 

"  You  have  been  happy  to-night,  Gisela." 

"  Perfectly.     I  am  happy.     Are  not  you  ? " 

"  I  haven't  inquired  of  myself  yet." 

"I've  had  several  things  to  make  me  happy — I've 
met  people  I'm  interested  in,  I  love  to  dance,  and — 
but  no  matter  for  more." 

"Teil  me  the  third  thing, — that's  the  postscript, 
always  the  best  part." 

"If  you  will  have  it,  I  was  glad  to  have  these 
Southern  gentlemen  meet  a  gentleman  from  the  North, 
and  understand — that's  all.  I'm  glad  to  have  you 
meet  some  of  our  best  people.  What  do  you  think  of 
the  costumes  ?  Isn't  Pen  beautiful  ? " 


A    GOOD  DEED    SHIATES*.FAR.  307 

"  Indeed  she  is,  and  she  has  danced  me  like  an  elf. 
A  good  many  costumes  are  beautiful, — Fair  Rosa- 
mond's, Rowena's,  the  Maid  of  Orleans,  a  dozen  oth- 
ers." 

"  And  not  a  word  for  the  poor  naiad  !  " 

"  I  heard  hers  admired  on  all  sides,  but  I  renem- 
ber  her  in  a  more  beautiful  costume." 

"  And  pray  when  and  where  was  that  ? " 

"  Once,  near  this  hour,  on  a  sacred  night," 

"  What  did  naiad  have  on  then  ? " 

"  I  don't  know.     Her  character  was,  a  Madonna." 

"  What  a  memory  you've  got !  Now,  I'm  cultiva- 
ting a  faculty  for  forgetting  things,  still  I  can't  forget 
my  frantic  behavior  and  injustice  the  night  poor  Alice 
came,  though  I  have  never  asked  your  forgiveness." 

"  You  were  right,  and  needed  no  forgiveness.  I  was 
not  perhaps  so  yielding  to  those  gentlemen  at  the  table 
as  my  tone  implied,  but  I  might  have  given  way  before 
this  if  you  had  not — sprung  to  my  side.  It  had  begun  to 
seem  so  unimportant  to  any  human  being  what  I  might 
think  or  say,  especially  down  here  among  men  doing 
their  best,  that  my  conscience  was  getting  silent. 
Then  another  conscience  rose  to  remind  me  of  my 
duty." 

"  Duty — Boston  word  for  happiness,  I  suppose.  I 
never  saw  a  happier  man  than  you  when  you  sent  to 
Harper's  Ferry  two  thousand  dollars  to  be  seen  no 
more." 

"  It  would  be  obtaining  credit  on  false  pretenses  to 
let  you  suppose  my  happiness  came  only  from  helping 
those  negroes.  I  might  have  clone  that  in  any  case, 
but  my  chief  happiness  came  otherwise," 


308  PINE  AND  PALM. 

There  was  something  ominous  in  these  slow  words 
and  low  tones  ;  Gisela  became  uneasy ;  she  went  to 
the  fountain,  drank  a  mouthful  of  the  water,  and 
stood  there  a  moment,  then  glanced  toward  the  hotel. 

"  You  do  not  ask  what  caused  my  happiness,"  said 
Wentworth,  "but  I  will  try  and  tell  you — it  isn't  easy." 

"  It's  never  easy  to  analyze  our  happiness,"  said 
Gisela,  catching  at  a  straw,  and  ran  on  volubly — "  so 
many  things  enter  into  it — a  mood,  a  bit  of  news,  a 
friend's  smile,  a — " 

"  That's  it — a  friend's  smile.  I  lost  a  friend's  smile 
one  day  and  it  returned  the  next.  It  gave  me  happi- 
ness ;  and  my  heart  whispered — what  if  that  smile 
were  always  on  you  !  " 

"  How  beautifully  this  water  flows  in  the  soft  star- 
light !  Listen — it  is  musical  too.  But  Pen  will  need 
me." 

"  She  is  not  the  only  one  that  needs  you." 

"  How  a  half-light  transfigures  things  !  That 
Hygeia  is  poor  plaster  by  day,  but  now  she  is  ideal  ; 
to-morrow  she  will  be  mere  plaster  again." 

"  Then  it  were  a  pity  the  day  should  dawn." 

"  But  it  must  dawn,  and  the  goddess  be  common- 
place again.  Glamour  would  be  sweet  if  it  could  last ; 
but  it  fades,  and  only  the  hard  reality  remains.  Come  !Jf 

M  No,  Gisela,  stay  with  me  and  bear  with  me." 

"  I  have  engagements  to  dance,  and  really  must  go." 

"  Not  till  you  have  decided  where  I  am  to  go  in 
this  world,  and  for  life.  Gisela,  you  once  saved  me—" 

"  Walter,  I  mean  to  save  you  now.  Ple.ase  take  me 
to  the  hotel." 

"What  can  you  mean,  Gisela?    There  is  but  one 


A    GOOD  DEED   SHINES  FAR.  309 

word  that  can  save  me,  and  you  must  speak  it.  Dear 
Gisela,  you  have  my  whole  heart  ;  say  only— take  my 
hand  for  life  !  " 

Gisela  sank  on  the  stone  seat,  and  sat  still  as  if  a 
carven  part  of  it,  her  face  bent  and  hidden  in  her 
hands.  Wentworth  tried  to  take  one  of  her  hands, 
but  she  shook  her  head,  and  a  great  sob  came  from 
her  heart. 

"  O  my  friend,"  she  said  at  last,  laying  her  hand  on 
his  shoulder,  "  how  fearful  is  all  this  !  My  true  and 
dear  friend,  what  a  heavy  wrong  have  I  done  you  !  " 

"  No  wrong,  Gisela,  but  every  good  except  the  last 
and  greatest  ;  now  complete  your  work.  Gisela — 
take  me  to  your  heart  forever  !  " 

"  O  Walter  !  There  are  mountains  between  us.  I 
know  you — I  see  your  future — a  leader  among  your 
people,  by  your  side  the  wife  now  waiting  for  you  in 
that  great  world.  Hasten  away — to-morrow.  What ! 
tie  yourself  to  an  old  woman,  in  this  little  corner  of 
the  world  which  she  can  not  leave  !  It  is  out  of  the 
question.  Oh,  this  is  terrible  !  " 

Gisela  threw  up  her  arms  as  if  bewildered,  and 
trembled  violently.  Wentworth  placed  his  arm  around 
her  and  pressed  her  head  on  his  shoulder. 

"  My  own,  my  love,  I  do  not  know  the  cause  of  this 
grief,"  he  said,  as  he  stroked  her  hair. 

"  I  have  done  you  great  wrong,"  she  said,  starting 
to  her  feet — "  I  ought  to  have  persuaded  you  to  leave 
us  instead  of  contriving  to  keep  you.  Now  I  must 
strike  the  best  heart  that  ever  beat.  It  will  not  do. 
My  age — my  father  whom  I  can  not  leave — your 
career — think  !  " 


310  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  Gisela,  you  say  you  are  the  older.  A  year  or  two 
perhaps.  It  is  but  a  superstition  that  the  wife  must 
be  the  younger.  Your  father  ?  He  is  mine — the  only 
one  I  have — and  I  do  not  mean  to  part  from  him. 
You  reason  against  me,  but  there  is  only  one  reason 
which  can  send  me  from  you.  If  you  can  not  return 
my  love,  I  am  hereafter  dumb." 

Gisela  tried  to  answer,  but  silently  sank  again  on 
the  stone  seat  and  clutched  it  as  if  about  to  fall. 

"  Say  it  now,  Gisela,  if  my  sentence  must  come — I 
will  wait  till  day-break.  If  you  can  not  love  me — 
and  I  know  I  am  not  worthy  of  it — I  will  strive  no 
more." 

"  Be  strong,  Walter — and  let  all  this  be  as  a  dream." 

"  A  dream  indeed,  if  my  love  is  unanswered.  But 
is  that  so  ?  Something  is  making  me  bold.  Is  it 
truly  so  ? " 

"  Ah,  if  I  were  only  dead  !  But  I  am  determined 
— I  say  no  !  " 

"  Because  you  have  no  love,  Gisela  ?  " 

A  burst  of  tears  was  Gisela's  answer. 

"  Yes  !  "  cried  Wentworth,  "  I  am  loved  by  the 
woman  I  love,  and  nothing  shall  part  her  from  me. 
Now  you  may  struggle,  but  it  is  from  love,  and  in 
vain.  If  there  be  any  mountain  between  us  I  will 
wear  it  down  if  it  take  many  years.  But  it  shall  be 
done.  You  see  I  am  calm,  Gisela.  This  is  no  sud- 
den passion." 

"  You  are  trying  to  put  on  a  chain." 

"  No— I  am  gaining  a  wing.  It  has  lifted  me  over 
the  mire  before  this,  and  I  hold  on  to  it." 

Wentworth  with  a  great  passionate  power  clasped 


A  GOOD  DEED   SHINES  FAR.  311 

her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  again  and  again  ;  she 
struggled  a  little,  then  her  head  lay  still  on  his  breast, 
and  he  heard  the  low  tones  of  a  prayer. 

There  was  a  silence  in  that  seclusion  as  if  the  sur- 
rounding world  had  ceased  to  exist,  though  they  might 
have  heard  the  music  and  dance  at  the  end  of  the 
grove  had  not  diviner  harmonies  held  them.  But 
presently  a  closer  sound  startled  Gisela,  and  she 
leaned  forward.  There  were  approaching  steps,  and 
low  voices — distinguishable  as  three  when  they  came 
near.  The  speakers  were  close  to  the  basin  of  the 
fountain. 

u  The  mere  fact  that  a  man's  a  Yankee  is  not  enough, 
Pinwell,  unless  he  says  or  does  something  against  us." 

"  I  tell  you  I  watched  him,  and  saw  him  enter 
Caleb's  house  with  a  nigger." 

"  That  does  look  suspicious,  fellows." 

"  What  I  say  is  this  ;  just  get  him  by  himself  and 
tell  him  he's  got  to  leave  this  state." 

"  That's  easy  to  say,  Pinwell,  but  suppose  he 
won't." 

"  I  know  he  will,  if  he  thinks  he  may  get  the  Stirl- 
ing's into  trouble." 

"  That  shows,  Pinwell,  that  you  think  he's  a  gen- 
tleman." 

"  There's  reason  why  he  ought  to  like  the  Stirlings, 
he's  living  on  them." 

"But  they  say  he's  rich." 

"  The  fact  is,  fellows,  you  must  excuse  me.  I  can'i: 
see  that  the  man's  done  any  harm,  and  to  tell  the 
truth,  Pinwell,  I'm  afraid  you  are  thinking  morq 
about  Miss  Gisela  than  southern  rights," 


312  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  I  feel  the  same  way,  Pinwell.  The  man  might 
have  been  talking  to  the  negroes  about  fishing  or 
shooting.  I'm  off." 

"  Damn  him,  I'll  tackle  him  myself." 

This  was  Pinwell's  soliloquy,  as  the  others  walked 
off.  Wentworth  listened  until  his  enemy  also  moved 
away,  muttering  oaths,  then  laughed  aloud ;  but 
Gisela  said  "  hush,"  and  was  in  more  anxiety  than  she 
cared  to  express.  She  was  silent  on  their  way  to  the 
hotel,  and  felt  that  Pinwell's  eyes  were  watching 
them, — her  shining  dress  could  be  seen  from  the 
furthest  covert.  They  entered  the  ball-room  Justin 
time  for  a  Sir  Roger,  and  the  masquerade  came  to  an 
end. 

"Where  is  Walter?"  asked  Gisela,  as  she  entered 
the  breakfast-room  next  morning,  where  she  found 
Douglas  and  Pen. 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  both. 

"  Douglas,  please  go  and  find  him — now,  without 
finishing  breakfast — and,"  she  added,  in  his  ear, 
"  whatever  you  do,  keep  near  him  all  the  time  till  we 
leave  this  afternoon.  I'll  tell  you  why  when  you  come 
back — it's  important." 

Douglas  walked  over  towards  the  fountain,  and 
quickened  his  steps  when  he  saw  Wentworth  confront- 
ing Pinwell  and  two  others.  As  he  was  approaching 
he  saw  there  was  a  quarrel. 

"  I  am  ready  to  give  account  of  myself  to  any  gen- 
tleman who  has  a  right  to  ask  it,"  said  Wentworth, 
"but  have  nothing  to  say  to  this  ill-bred  spy " 

At  this  Pinwell  struck  Wentworth,  who,  with  a  swift 
blow,  sent  his  antagonist  reeling  against  a  tree.  Doug- 


A   GOOD  DEED  SHINES  FAR.  313 

las  reached  the  spot  just  in  time  to  catch  Pinwell's 
hand  as  it  was  drawing  a  pistol. 

"  No,  you  don't — no  murder !  "  cried  Douglas,  firing 
the  pistol  in  the  air,  and  so  drawing  a  number  of 
people  to  the  spot,  while  Pinwell's  two  comrades 
slipped  off. 

"  Damn  you  and  your  abolition  friends,"  cried  Pin- 
well,  "you  and  your  brother  are  no  better." 

"  Stop,  George  Pinwell  !  if  you  say  another  word 
about  my  brother  I'll  thrash  you  right  off — you 
sneak  !  " 

"  Well,  you're  two  against  one,  but  I'm  ready  for 
you." 

"  Clear  out,  you  cur  !  "  said  Douglas,  taking  Went- 
worth's  arm  and  turning  toward  the  hotel. 

So  ended  the  Pinwell  incident.  He  and  his  two 
companions — strangers  to  Douglas — disappeared  from 
the  Springs  before  dinner,  and  Wentworth  never  saw 
Pinwell  again.  Gisela  and  Pen  knew  nothing  of  what 
had  occurred  until,  as  they  were  about  to  start  for  The 
Palms,  a  young  man,  whose  voice  Gisela  had  recog- 
nized as  that  of  an  acquaintance  when  he  repudiated 
Pinwell  at  the  fountain,  came  to  the  carriage  and 
asked  to  be  introduced  to  her  friend. 

"  Mr.  Burroughs,  Mr.  Wentworth." 

"  I  congratulate  you,  sir,  on  having  given  the  con- 
quering hero  a  lesson  he  needed.  1  hope  you'll  not 
believe  many  southerners  capable  of  assassination. 
The  feeling  about  here  is  entirely  with  you,  and  the 
fellow  has  had  to  run." 

Wentworth  answered  graciously,  and  took  off  his 
hat  to  the  company  in  the  veranda,  who  all  bowed 


314  PINE  AND  PALM. 

smilingly  as  the  carriage  drove  off.  Gisela  was 
aghast,  Pen  bewildered,  at  what  they  had  heard.  The 
whole  story  had  to  come  out  when  they  were  on  the 
road,  and  Gisela,  forgetting  herself,  put  her  arm 
round  her  lover  and  leaned  her  head  on  his  shoulder. 
To  Pen  this  seemed  so  natural  that  she  did  the  like, 
her  tears  streaming.  Poor  Douglas  was  blushing  for 
his  sisters'  exceeding  affectionateness,  when  Gisela 
caught  sight  of  his  face  and  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  Dear  Doug  doesn't  know  what  to  make  of  us  ; 
give  your  old  sister  a  kiss,  boy,  and  say  who  you'd 
like  best  for  a  new  brother  !  " 

"  Gisela,  are  you  daft  ?  " 

"  Quite,  Doug." 

"She's  only  daft  enough  to  become  my  wife." 

A  tremendous  crack  of  a  whip  in  the  air  reminded 
these  demoralized  travelers  that  they  had  a  negro 
driver ;  a  scream  from  Penelope,  who  seemed  to  be 
fainting,  happily  gave  them  something  to  do. 

"  Are  you  going  away  ? "  cried  the  child,  throwing 
her  arms  around  her  sister's  neck  with  a  burst  of 
tears. 

"  She'll  never  part  from  you,  dear  Pen,  nor  I  either," 
said  Wentworth,  who  was  rewarded  with  kisses  so 
soon  as  the  little  mouth  could  straighten  again. 
Douglas  grasped  Wentworth's  hand,  in  evident  agita- 
tion. 

In  the  evening  Wentworth  was  giving  reassurances 
to  the  father,  declaring  that  they  would  never  part 
from  him. 

The  venerable  face  grew  pale,  but  the  just  judge 
answered,  albeit  with  quivering  lip. 


A    GOOD  DEED   S&INES  FAR.  315 

"  Gisela  is  near  to  my  heart,  but  she  will  forsake  all 
others  and  cleave  to  her  husband  when  that  is  the 
right  thing  to  be  done.  You  and  I  know  what  a 
heart  you  have  found,  my  son  :  there  is  only  one  man 
on  earth  to  whom  I  would  yield  her  with  joy.  He 
now  has  her.  I  would  say  to  her,  where  he  goes  go 
you  !  though  my  life  departed  with  her." 

For  some  days  the  judge  was  caressed  by  Gisela 
and  charmed  by  her  confidences  from  his  feeling  of 
loneliness.  Douglas  too  required  comforting  treat- 
ment. Wentworth  was  unremitting  in  affectionate 
attentions  to  father  and  son  ;  he  made  Douglas  go 
with  him  to  Prince  William  Court-house  and  to  Fair- 
fax, where  records  had  to  be  examined  in  Randolph's 
interest,  and  their  friendship  gained  daily  in  depth 
and  fullness. 

How  wonderfully  a  happy  man  can  work  !  Went- 
worth seemed  always  to  have  leisure  enough  ;  he 
could  ride  with  Gisela,  capture  butterflies  with  Pen, 
shoot  wild  turkeys  with  Douglas,  play  whist  with  the 
judge  ;  but,  the  while,  masses  of  documents  were 
digested,  a  ream  of  paper  covered  with  notes,  and, 
six  weeks  after  the  excursion  to  the  Springs,  a  clear 
statement  by  this  Boston  lawyer  in  the  Fauquier 
court  secured  all  the  claims  of  Randolph  Stirling. 
The  Palms  now  needed  but  the  return  of  the  wander- 
ing son  and  his  bride  to  complete  the  happiness  of  its 
circle.  This  was  promised.  Another  note  came  say- 
ing they  had  started  on  their  eastward  journey,  and 
hoped,  on  reaching  Washington,  to  learn  that  no 
trouble  need  be  apprehended  if  they  should  come  to 
The  Palms. 


3i6  PINE  AND  PALM. 

About  this  time  occurred  that  event  at  Harper's 
Ferry  which  shook  Virginia  like  an  earthquake,  and 
was  felt  throughout  the  land.  Wild  rumors  spread 
through  the  neighboring  counties,  in  which  white 
invasions  and  black  insurrections  were  confused,  and 
the  panic  was  universal.  When  the  raid  on  Harper's 
Ferry  occurred  Wentworth  was  on  a  visit  to  Boston  ; 
this  was  perhaps  fortunate,  for  the  Pinwell  element  in 
most  southern  towns  was  raised  to  the  surface  by  that 
tempest,  and  a  Yankee  in  Warrenton  streets  might 
have  proved  a  tempting  victim  for  the  sins  of  his  sec- 
tion. At  any  rate  Douglas  returned  from  town  one 
day  much  excited  by  something  he  had  heard  ;  also 
Uncle  Josh  Williams  reported  to  Gisela  that  he  and 
Caleb  Stone  had  been  questioned  by  a  small  company 
of  men,  including  Pinwell,  as  to  the  subject  of  Went- 
worth's  interview  with  them  in  the  early  summer. 
Under  menaces  the  negroes  had  confessed  that  the 
gentleman  wanted  Caleb  to  tell  him  the  whole  story 
of  his  mother's  ghost  which  appeared  the  fourth  of 
July  and  told  Caleb  she  died  of  poison  in  Tennessee. 
It  would  not  have  done  to  mention  Harper's  Ferry, 
where  Alice  had  gone. 

Wentworth  suspected  something  of  this  when  he 
received  in  Boston  a  letter  from  Gisela  more  cheerful 
than  usual  about  his  absence,  and  expressing  the  hope 
that  he  would  accept  an  invitation,  of  which  he  had 
written,  to  visit  the  Minotts.  But  little  did  any  of 
these  happy  young  people  imagine  that  amid  the 
stormy  events  of  that  time  a  special  thunderbolt  was 
making  its  way  toward  them,  under  their  rosy  sky, 
where  all  the  morning  stars  were  singing. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

INTO    THE    JAWS    OF    DEATH. 

IN  a  small  room  at  Tabor — whose  only  furniture  was 
a  stove,  a  cot,  and  a  pine  table  on  which  lay  a  large 
map  of  Virginia — Captain  Brown  (alias  Gideon),  sat  in 
eager  conversation  with  Randolph  Stirling  through  the 
small  hours  of  night.  A  purpose  had  formed  in  the  cap- 
tain's mind  for  which  co-operation  of  a  Virginian  were 
worth  more  than  an  army  corps;  for  indeed  this  puritan 
wool-grower  turned  warrior,  what  time  the  dew  of  a 
mission  to  smite  slaveholding  Midianites  settled  on  his 
fleece,  heard  his  heavenly  Man  of  War  warn  him 
against  too  many  soldiers,  lest  Freedom  should  vaunt 
itself,  and  say,  Mine  own  hand  hath  saved  me.  He 
wanted  a  few  only,  but  above  all  he  desired  a  Virgin- 
ian :  he  had  never  met  with  another  man  from  that 
state  so  friendly  to  freedom  as  Stirling,  and  with  char- 
acteristic superstition  leaped  to  the  conclusion  that 
here  was  his  heaven-sent  Purah,  his  spy,  to  help  him 
discover  the  secrets  of  the  spoilers.  This  belief  led 
him  to  speak  with  Stirling  about  the  mountains  of 
Virginia,  declaring  that  they  had  been  built  by  Jehovah 
to  be  the  refuge  and  fastness  of  a  race  defending  its 
freedom.  It  needed  only  that  trumpet  should  answer 
trumpet  along  those  heights,  for  all  the  oppressed  to 


318'  PINE  AND  PALM. 

flee  to  the  mountains  and  find  the  shield  of  Almighty 
God  about  them.  Stirling  had  lost  his  early  faith  in 
slavery;  he  felt  strong  sympathy  with  fugitives  from 
oppression;  but  he  recognized  in  Brown's  notions,  so 
far  as  he  could  think  what  he  was  driving  at,  not  only 
fanaticism  but  a  great  and  dangerous  fallacy,  namely, 
that  the  slaves  were  a  race  groaning  for  liberty.  The 
slaves,  he  urged,  are  now  evangelized;  they  believe  in 
the  command  "  servants  obey  your  masters,"  and  that 
they  will  offend  God  by  disobeying  it  ;  they  dread  the 
northern  climate;  too  many  of  them  have  comfortable 
homes  to  seek  uncertainties  elsewhere. 

"  What  is  a  comfortable  home  without  the  God- 
given  right  to  freedom  !  "  cried  the  captain. 

"  But  they  do  not  find  it  God-given,  and  have  long 
been  taught  to  resign  themselves  to  affliction  for  the 
greater  glory  hereafter.  But  whatever  their  motives, 
I  am  convinced,  by  long  intimacy  with  that  race, 
that  the  fugitives  fly  from  special  hardships,  and 
that  the  majority  would  stay  where  they  are  even  if 
you  could  open  the  gates  of  liberty  before  them— as 
you  can  not." 

"  Young  man,  is  there  a  God  ?  His  arm  will  be  laid 
bare.  And  when  you  shall  see  it,  will  you  stand  on 
his  side  ?  Should  I  be  able  some  day  to  show  you 
these  oppressed  people  you  think  so  contented  coming 
by  thousands  from  the  house  of  bondage,  would  you 
then  stand  at  my  side  to  help  them  ?  " 

"  Wherever  I  shall  see  man  or  woman  whom  I  can 
save  from  wrong  and  suffering  I  trust  my  help  will 
not  be  found  wanting." 

"  Young  man,  for  the  moment  your  eyes  are  held  in 


INTO    THE  JAWS  OF  DEATH.  319 

some  things,  but  I  feel  that  the  Lord  of  Hosts  has  an 
appointed  work  for  you,  because  of  which  he  has 
opened  your  eyes  to  the  evils  of  slavery,  though  you 
were  born  in  the  house  of  the  taskmaster.  Before 
long  I  may  remind  you  of  your  promise  to  help  those 
fleeing  from  oppression,  and  call  on  you  to  see  the 
salvation  of  God." 

With  this  the  Captain  gave  the  mystified  Virginian 
his  hand,  cast  on  him  a  strange  sorrowful  look,  and  gave 
him  an  envelope  containing  directions  for  a  journey 
into  Kansas  with  letters  of  introduction  to  one  or  two 
friends  there.  For  on  the  arrival  at  Tabor  they  had 
heard  that  Nuella's  brother  was  still  alive,  and  resolved 
to  try  and  reach  him.  They  carried  with  them  many 
things  which  might  be  of  service  to  the  suffering  man. 

A  strange  wedding  journey  !  Severe  as  it  was,  this 
pilgrimage  of  love  had  compensations  ;  it  was  through 
sublime  scenery,  it  was  healthful,  and  it  gave  Stirling 
and  his  wife  the  intimacy  of  years  while  developing 
the  character  of  both  into  greater  strength. 

They  reached  the  cabin  of  Major  Felzen,  to  whom 
Captain  Brown  had  directed  them,  only  to  hear  that 
Colonel  Rhodes  had  been  removed  from  the  neighbor- 
hood. He  had  nearly  recovered  from  every  trouble 
except  a  fractured  right  arm,  when  it  was  discovered 
that  a  party  of  raiders,  hearing  he  was  disabled,  had 
resolved  to  capture  him  and  some  things  of  importance 
believed  to  be  in  his  possession.  Under  the  circum- 
stances it  was  thought  best  that  Colonel  Rhodes  should 
leave  the  territory  for  a  time,  and  he  had  gone  off  with 
friends;  but  whither,  Major  Felzen  could  not  say.  The 
major  gave  them  hearty  welcome.  He  had  no  wife, 


320  PINE  AND  PALM. 

but  there  were  in  his  house  a  Swedish  woman  .and  her 
daughter,  who  had  immigrated  with  Mormons  but 
refused  to  join  their  community,  and  found  asylum 
with  this  countryman.  There  were  also  in  the  house  a 
negro  woman  and  her  husband,  escaped  from  Missouri, 
and  in  much  dread  of  pursuit. 

It  was  soon  proved  that  the  fears  of  these  negroes 
were  well-grounded.  On  the  third  morning  after  the 
arrival  of  the  Stirlings  the  tramp  of  Missourian  horses 
was  heard.  Felzen's  door  was  barricaded,  the  men  all 
armed  themselves,  and  a  siege  was  awaited.  At  length 
a  voice  at  the  door  demanded  admittance,  at  hearing 
which  the  terrified  negro  wife  whispered — "  It  is  my 
master  ;  he  will  kill  Charley/'  Hardly  had  she  spoken 
when  the  door  was  broken  in  and  Felzen  shot  dead. 
The  rush  of  the  six  Missourians  was  too  sudden  for 
resistance.  The  negroes  were  first  bound  and  Stirling 
held  fast.  He  had  managed  to  knock  an  assailant 
down,  but  that  was  all. 

"  Shoot  the  white  man,"  cried  one  of  the  raiders, 
"  but  keep  the  gals.  Gals  is  skeerce." 

"  Shooting's  too  good,  we'll  hang  him  up  as  a  skeer- 
crow  for  nigger-stealers." 

Stirling  and  Nuella  could  only  exchange  looks  of 
silent  despair.  This  then  was  the  end  of  their  sweet 
romance  ! 

Though  in  those  days  there  was  no  escaping  negro 
without  a  slave-hunter  on  his  track,  there  was  also  no 
such  hunter  without  a  free-state  avenger  on  his  track. 
These  six  Missourians  had  been  pursued  for  two  days 
and  their  triumph  was  brief.  The  free-state  men 
crept  up  velvet-footed,  nine  men,  and  the  raiders  were 


INTO    THE  JAWS  OF  DEATH.  321 

overpowered  a  few  minutes  after  they  had  broken  in 
the  door.  They  fought  with  tooth  and  claw — their 
weapons  being  instantly  seized, — but  had  to  yield. 
One  ruffian,  just  tying  Nuella's  hands  behind  her,  had 
leaped  in  front  of  her  and  grappled  with  fury  a  man 
who  came  to  her  rescue,  and  they  rolled  on  the  floor. 
Stirling,  whose  hands  were  tightly  bound  behind  him, 
bounded  to  the  assistance  of  the  free-state  man,  though 
he  could  only  use  his  feet.  In  another  moment  his 
cords  were  cut. 

While  the  two  men  were  presently  engaged  in  bind- 
ing this  huge  ruffian,  they  did  not  look  at  each 
other.  As  they  rose  up  their  eyes  met  :  once  more 
Stirling  and  Layman  stood  face  to  face.  Layman 
hardly  recognized  the  man  who  had  struck  him  down 
in  the  street  at  White  River  Junction  ;  but  at  sight  of 
Nuella  he  was  stupefied.  There  was  an  ugly  gash  on  his 
forehead,  received  from  the  man  at  his  feet,  and  his 
men,  who  spoke  of  him  as  "  Colonel  Layman,"  now 
pressed  around  to  know  if  he  was  much  hurt.  Nuella 
could  not  see  at  once  the  man  who  had  fought  her 
ruffian,  but  knowing  he  was  wounded  brought  hand- 
kerchiefs. At  her  approach  Layman  hung  down  his 
head,  but  she  recognized  him.  As  she  was  tying  a 
handkerchief  around  his  forehead  she  spoke  to  him 
gently.  In  her  happiness  she  had  already  forgiven 
and  forgotten  him. 

"  Kow  glad  I  am  it  is  you.  Randolph,  this  is  an 
old  acquaintance  of  mine  from  West  Lebanon, — Mr. 
Layman,  this  is  my  husband  Mr.  Stirling." 

Stirling  had  already  spoken  warmly  and  now  again 
poured  out  his  gratitude.  Layman  looked  at  him 


322  PINE  AND  PALM. 

steadily,  and  perceived  that  he  did  not  wish  the  fact 
of  their  having  met  before  to  be  mentioned. 

"  Your  wife  is  forgiving,  Mr.  Stirling,"  said  Colonel 
Layman,  "  after  the  evil  I  once  done  her." 

"  All  was  over-ruled  for  the  best,"  said  Nuella  ; 
"  you  have  risen  to  be  a  rescuer,  and  have  saved  me 
and  my  husband." 

"  Henceforth  we  are  all  friends,"  said  Stirling  ; 
"  whatever  is  unhappy  in  the  past  is  blotted  out  with 
this  blood  of  yours." 

Poor  Felzen  was  silently  buried  in  the  forest.  The 
raiders  were  brought  out  bound,  to  surround  the  grave 
of  the  man  they  had  slain.  When  the  shallow  grave 
was  nearly  filled  the  Swedish  girl  planted  an  evergreen 
in  it,  and  said,  "  He  was  a  good  man  and  very  kind 
to  us."  While  she  and  her  mother  were  shedding 
tears  on  the  grave  of  their  friend,  a  strange  cry  was 
heard. 

"  Let  us  pray  !  " 

A  bareheaded  young  man,  apparently  deranged, 
made  his  way  to  the  grave,  and  was  recognized  by  the 
free-state  men, — also  by  two  of  the  Missourians,  who 
had  once  driven  this  poor  youth  trotting  before  their 
horses  nine  miles  under  a  fierce  sun.  The  sunstroke 
had  not  yet  lifted  from  the  brain  of  Captain  Brown's 
son,  who  now  gave  a  glance  of  pity  at  the  bound  men, 
then  fell  on  his  knees  beside  the  grave. 

"  O  God,"  he  cried,  with  uplifted  face,  "bless  the 
poor  men  who  are  tied  and  dragged  and  trampled 
under  horses,  and  bless  their  mothers  who  are  crying 
for  them  at  home.  Save  them  from  being  hunted 
with  bloodhounds  !— Poor  men,  I  will  undo  your  ropes," 


INTO    THE  JAWS  OF  D&ATH.  323 

he  added,  springing  up  and  moving  towards  the  Mis- 
sourians. 

"  Oh,  don't  hurt  them,"  he  cried,  as  Layman's  men 
restrained  him,  "  they  have  mothers  and  wives  and 
children." 

The  prisoners  were  released,  their  horses  and 
money  given  to  the  two  negroes.  The  valuables 
in  Felzen's  house  were  collected,  the  Swedish 
women  taking  their  own  with  them.  They  all  then 
made  for  a  point  twenty  miles  away.  Colonel  Lay- 
man told  the  Stirlings  that  he  had  helped  Colonel 
Rhodes  to  get  off,  that  he  had  gone  northward  with 
a  wagon  party,  and  no  doubt  would  find  his  way 
to  White  River  Junction.  On  the  day  following 
there  was  another  funeral ;  the  Swedish  mother 
could  not  recover  from  the  shock  of  the  struggle 
at  the  cabin,  Felzen's  death,  and  the  fatigue  of 
traveling.  She  confided  to  Stirling  her  daughter,  to 
be  taken  to  a  relative  in  Detroit,  and  her  little 
treasure  of  money  and  jewelry.  At  the  small 
free-state  camp  which  they  reached  at  length,  they 
found  four  more  fugitive  negroes,  just  arrived  with 
two  wagons,  in  which  they  were  about  starting  for 
Iowa,  with  the  hope  of  making  their  way  to  Canada. 
After  consultation  it  was  determined  that  Stirling 
should  undertake  the  conveyance  of  the  six  negroes, 
two  of  which  were  men,  to  Canada.  Colonel  Layman 
took  care  that  they  should  all,  even  the  women,  be 
armed,  as  pursuit  of  the  negroes  was  probable. 

Their  itinerary  included  a  small  German  settlement 
near  the  south-west  corner  of  Iowa,  and  on  their 
approach  to  this  place  occurred  the  first  incident  of 


324  PINE  AND  PALM. 

importance  to  our  story  in  this  weary  journey.  Stirl- 
ing was  told  that  he  could  rely  on  these  Germans  for 
assistance.  While  yet  a  mile  distant  he  was  hailed 
while  passing  a  saw-mill.  Two  Germans,  having 
observed  the  negroes,  came  out  to  warn  them  of 
danger :  a  strong  party  of  Missourians  had  been 
prowling  about  there  for  twenty-four  hours,  pro- 
fessedly to  arrest  a  murderer,  but  really,  it  was  believed, 
to  overtake  fugitive  slaves.  The  leader  of  the  Mis- 
souri party  had  stated  that  the  murdered  man  was  a 
worthy  German  named  Felzen,  whose  valuables  had 
been  carried  off  by  the  assassin  and  his  confederates. 
After  consultation  it  was  arranged  that  the  wagons 
should  be  left  at  the  saw-mill,  to  be  driven  into  the 
village  by  the  Germans  a  few  hours  later.  The  party 
led  by  Stirling  was  to  break  up  into  groups  of  two, 
and  go  on  foot  to  the  village  at  different  times  and  by 
different  directions.  On  arrival  there  they  must  all 
find  their  way  to  the  house  of  a  man  named  Hener- 
mann. 

This  plan  brought  Stirling's  party  safely  to  Hener- 
mann's  house,  where  a  consultation  was  held.  The 
eastward  road  being  certainly  watched,  the  escaping 
party  were  advised  to  leave  as  they  had  entered,  on  foot, 
and  in  separate  groups,  but  in  a  southerly  direction. 
The  wagons  were  to  be  driven  out  by  Germans  and  to 
await  the  gathering  of  the  party  at  a  point  two  miles 
south,  from  which  they  were  to  veer  eastward  again 
by  an  unusual  route.  They  were  to  start  that  night- 
there  was  moonlight — and  at  the  same  time  a  decoy 
wagon  would  start  on  the  watched  road.  All  this  was 
perilously  complex.  There  was  little  danger  of  their 


INTO    THE  JAWS   OF  QEATH.  325 

not  reaching  the  wagons,  but  the  route  after  that  was 
obscure  and  a  mistake  might  carry  them  into  Mis* 
souri.  Stirling  inquired  if  there  could  be  found  some 
German  who,  if  handsomely  paid,  might  be  willing  to 
go  out  with  the  wagons  and  accompany  them  as  a 
guide  till  they  should  reach  a  more  certain  road. 

And  now  occurred  one  of  those  coincidences  whose 
marvelousness  grows  with  their  frequency.  While 
Henermann  and  his  friends  were  suggesting  persons 
possibly  available  for  this  task,  Stirling  caught  one 
name — Hartmann — which  had  a  familiar  sound.  He 
could  not  at  once  remember  where  he  had  heard  it,  and 
asked  Hartmann's  first  name.  "  Franz  !  "  The  man 
was  at  once  sent  for,  and  proved  indeed  to  be  the 
Fraiilein's  lover.  .  Nothing  could  exceed  the  young 
man's  amazement  and  delight  on  hearing  tidings  of 
his  sweetheart,  and  Stirling  told  enough  of  his  own 
services  to  her  to  engage  his  gratitude  for  their  assist- 
ance. The  lover  was  a  new-comer,  and  swiftly  made 
his  arrangements  to  travel  with  the  party  to  the  east, 
having  resolved  not  to  rest  until  he  had  found  his 
bride. 

It  was  near  daybreak  when  this  glad  impatient 
Franz  sat  waiting  with  the  wagons  for  the  arrival  of 
the  fugitive  company.  They  came,  group  after  group, 
by  their  devious  ways.  Stirling,  his  wife,  and  the 
Swedish  girl  were  alone  waited  for.  They  had  started 
across  a  field  for  a  road  that  passed  along  the  edge  of 
a  thicket,  and  all  eyes  were  now  strained  in  that  direc- 
tion. At  length  in  the  far  dusk  the  shadowy  form  of 
a  woman  was  seen  bounding,  as  if  winged,  toward 
them.  It  was  the  Swede,  her  face  ghastly,  who  rushed 


326  PINE  AND  PALM. 

to  them  and  sank  with  exhaustion  and  terror,  gasping 
out  her  fearful  tidings. 

"  She  is  shot !  she  is  dying  !  her  husband  may  get 
killed  too ! " 

Alas,  it  was  but  too  true.  A  sharp  report  in  the 
thicket,  and  Nuella,  who  was  next  it,  fell,— just  as 
Stirling  fired  back  into  the  covert. 

"  Randolph,  O  my  husband,"  she  said,  as  he  took 
her  head  in  his  lap,  "  fly,  fly,  they  will  kill  you  !  " 

"  My  wife,  my  darling,  where  are  you  hurt  ? "     . 

"  I  am  sinking, — hurry,  don't  stop,"  whispered  the 
failing  voice,  "  you  can  not  help  me,  I  am  dying." 

"  And  for  me,  for  me— O  my  God,  if  I  had  only 
been  on  that  side  !  " 

"  Would  it  have  struck  you  ?  "  whispered  Nuella  ; 
"then  I'm  happy.  You  made  my  life  beautiful." 

"  Nuella,  live,  live,  live  !     O  my  sweet oh  !  " 

She  had  expired  with  her  last  kiss.  A  great  cry  of 
horror  came  from  his  heart,  he  sank  back  ;  the  little 
head  was  pillowed  in  peace  on  his  prostrate  form. 

Had  his  own  life  only  been  at  stake,  Stirling  could 
not  have  parted  from  the  lifeless  form  of  Nuella,  who 
had  twined  herself  about  all  his  heart-strings,  and 
before  whose  nobleness  he  had  bowed  more  reverently 
every  day  since  their  marriage.  But  when  they  had 
laid  her  on  the  ground  beneath  an  oak — just  as  the 
rising  sun  ushered  in  the  darkest  of  nights — and  the 
negroes  began  a  wailing  hymn,  Franz  Hartmann 
said — "  Hush  !  you  must  not  sing  ;  there  is  danger 
around  us  !  "  Then  Nuella's  brave  face  appealed  to 
him  whom  her  heart  had  once  more  shielded,  that  he 
should  forget  self,  and  even  leave  her  dear  slain  self 


INTO    THE  JAWS  OF  DEATH.  327 

to  fulfill  his  trust.  Her  remembrance  should  be  the 
safety  of  those  hunted  human  beings.  So  Nuella  was 
buried  under  the  oak,  and  the  sorrowful  fugitives  and 
their  deliverers  moved  on. 

Wherefore,  from  whom,  came  this  stroke  out  of  the 
dark  was  never  known.  As  they  drove  on  Franz 
strained  his  eyes  toward  the  wood  where  the  tragedy 
occurred,  but  Stirling  when  he  next  raised  his  head 
looked  in  another  direction  :  he  stood  up  in  the 
wagon,  gazed  on  the  southern  horizon,  then 
stretched  his  hands  toward  it  and  said — "  Pitiless, 
pitiless  !  "  If  there  had  lingered  in  his  mind  any  doubt 
concerning  the  spirit  of  slavery  it  was  left  buried  in  the 
grave  of  Nuella.  But  no  feeling  of  vengeance  rose  in 
him  ;  and  when,  a  few  hours  later,  as  they  were  driving 
over  a  bridge,  a  negro  handed  him  his  revolver,  picked 
up  on  the  scene  of  the  tragedy,  Stirling  calmly  hurled 
it  into  the  stream,  saying,  "  I  have  fired  my  last  shot." 

In  the  evening  Stirling  conversed  with  the  Swede  in 
German,  and  she  told  him  a  strange  history  of  her 
life  ;  the  negroes  also  had  stones  to  relate  which  he 
found  instructive  ;  and  had  Nuella  been  there  the 
journey  might  have  proved  one  of  thrilling  interest. 
But  the  ever-recurring  horror  permitted  nothing  to 
beguile  him  ;  it  seemed  a  weary  life-time  before  they 
reached  Detroit.  There  the  Swede  was  consigned  to 
her  friend,  and  the  rest  passed  on  to  Canada,  where 
they  were  received  with  welcome.  Franz,  of  course, 
by  this  time  was  well  on  his  way  to  Peacefield  and  his 
Mathilde.  Stirling  told  him  the  address  in  Canada 
where  he  could  be  reached  by  a  letter  for  a  week  or 
two,  and  begged  him  to  write. 


328  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Stirling,  his  charge  fulfilled,  desired  only  to  hide 
himself  and  pass  silently  through  his  ordeal  of  grief. 
He  found  a  little  hotel  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
negroes,  whose  experiences  he  heard  and  studied  a 
good  deal.  He  wrote  the  story  of  his  brief  married 
life,  from  its  happy  opening  to  its  heart-breaking  end, 
to  send  to  Manuel  when  he  could  summon  courage  to 
do  so.  He  wrote  long  letters  to  his  dearest  friends — 
to  Wentworth,  Judge  Minott,  Maria  Shelton— keeping 
them,  however,  beside  him,  adding  a  little  from  day  to 
day.  He  was  loth  to  send  them  ;  perhaps  he  dreaded 
to  reveal  yet  the  hermitage  of  his  sorrow.  But  on  an 
early  day  in  October  his  solitude  was  penetrated.  He 
had  given  a  somewhat  vague  address  to  Franz,  but  a 
letter  from  Hilda,  after  some  delay,  found  him  out. 

"  Franz  Hartmann,"  it  said,  "  has  found  his  Math- 
ilde  at  last,  but  in  their  joy  are  mingled  tears  for  their 
benefactor.  Alas,  for  the  heavy  tidings  he  brings 
concerning  you.  We  had  heard  through  Judge  Minott 
something  of  the  touching  circumstances  of  your 
marriage,  and  he  promised  to  send  us  your  address  if 
he  could  discover  it,  for  we  longed  to  have  you  more 
than  fulfill  your  promise  to  visit  us  again,  by  bringing 
your  wife.  Before  the  fearfulness  of  your  bereave- 
ment words  sink  into  lifeless  things.  But  w.e  can  not 
think  without  concern  of  your  lonely  stay  in  Canada, 
nor  forget  that  a  deed  of  humanity,  similar  to  that 
which  has  now  made  the  tragedy  of  your  life,  deprives 
you  of  the  solace  of  your  father's  home.  May  we  not 
claim  the  privilege  of  friends,  and  beg  you  to  come  to 
us  here— at  once  ?  We  had  hoped  for  your  promised 
return  under  happy  circumstances,  but  under  none 


INTO    THE  JAWS  OF  DEATH.  329 

could  have  desired  it  so  much  as  now.  Come,  dear 
Mr.  Stirling,  and  make  our  house  your  home.  You 
shall  have  what  seclusion  you  may  desire.  The  world 
shall  not  obtrude  on  your  sorrow.  It  seems  longer 
than  one  brief  year  since  we  walked  together  in  our 
grove,  but  the  Indian  Summer  is  again  here  to  soothe 
your  trouble.  And  there  are  hearts  here  that  sympa- 
thize with  you.  My  father  is  absent  this  week,  but 
my  mother  sends  expression  of  her  deep  sympathy, 
and  trusts,  with  me,  that  you  will  answer  this  note  with 
your  presence." 

Stirling  sat  holding  this  letter  for  a  long  time  ;  then 
he  wrote  a  grateful  note  declining  the  invitation,  and 
started  with  it  for  the  post-office.  But  it  was  some 
distance,  and  as  he  walked  his  steps  became  slower  ; 
a  gentle  sympathizing  face,  with  some  of  Gisela's  look, 
rose  with  friendly  persuasion  before  him  ;  the  dingy 
tenements  around  were  hid  by  vision  of  a  quiet  grove  ; 
he  turned  upon  his  steps,  and  in  the  evening  wrote 
to  Hilda  that  he  hoped  to  be  at  Peacefield  Pines 
before  the  middle  of  the  month. 

But  in  the  following  week  this  plan  was  changed, 
and  Stirling's  mind  much  disturbed  by  two  letters 
brought  him  by  a  negro. 

DEAR  SIR, — I  hear  from  friends  in  Canada  of 
your  safe  arrival  there,  under  the  providence  of  God, 
with  six  souls  delivered  from  the  house  of  bondage. 
This  shows  that  what  you  said  at  Tabor  was  not  mere 
words.  I  have  also  been  informed  of  the  murder  of 
your  wife  by  slave-hunting  assassins.  Terrible  as  is 
this  blow,  I  feel  assured  that  the  Lord  has  chosen  this 


330  PINE  AND  PALM. 

means  of  bringing  home  to  you  the  condition  of  the 
millions  of  wives  and  husbands  who  are  in  the  power 
of  such  murderous  oppressors.  I  pray  and  believe 
that  your  eyes  must  be  now  fully  open.  You  said  to 
me  at  Tabor,  that  if  you  should  see  human  beings 
escaping  from  bondage  you  would  help  them.  The 
time  has  come  for  me  to  remind  you  of  that  promise 
and  require,  in  the  name  of  God,  its  fulfillment.  If 
you  will  meet  me  on  the  bridge  at  Harper's  Ferry  on 
Sabbath  evening,  the  23d  inst.,  your  doubts  (if  they 
remain),  of  the  slaves'  desire  to  rise,  will  disperse  ; 
you  will  see  the  outstretched  arm  of  Almighty  God, 
and  the  deliverance  of  those  who  cry  to  him  day  and 
night.  Private.  Yours  faithfully, — BROWN. 

DEAR  SIR, — Captain  John  Brown  has  been  much 
excited  the  last  few  days  by  a  letter  received  from 
Canada  concerning  you.  He  read  it  to  us,  and  says 
that  he  knows  you,  and  has  reason  to  believe  that  you 
will  be  at  his  side  when  his  long-meditated  blow  is 
struck.  Though  I  am  writing  this  by  another  hand, 
and  do  not  give  my  name,  you  and  I  have  met,  and  I 
am  anxious  to  save  you  from  danger.  Captain  Brown 
has  mustered  here  (at  a  place  called  Kennedy's  Farm, 
Maryland,  about  two  hours  march  from  Harper's 
Ferry)  about  twenty  men,  with  whom  he  means  to 
attack  that  town,  seize  the  arms  there,  distribute  them 
among  the  slaves  and  overthrow  slavery.  This  scheme 
could  only  succeed  by  a  miracle  ;  but  the  captain  fully 
believes  that  miracle  will  occur — literally.  He  believes 
that  he  has  been  appointed  by  certain  signs  to  deliver  the 
slaves,  and  that,  if  necessary,  the  Potomac  would  open 


INTO    THE  JAWS   OF  DEATH.  331 

for  him  and  his  people  to  walk  through  dry-shod.  He 
has  received  in  the  north  large  sums  of  money  from 
persons  who  can  hardly  know  that  it  is  intended  to 
lead  a  handful  of  young  men  like  sheep  to  the  slaugh- 
ter. Some  of  our  number  are  in  ignorance  of  the 
doom  that  is  over  them.  We  are  all  bound  to  him  by 
solemn  oaths.  I  am  willing  to  die,  but  I  feel  bound 
to  warn  you  not  to  be  induced  by  any  thing  he  may 
write  to  join  us,  unless,  indeed,  you  have  such 
influence  over  Captain  Brown  as  to  be  able  to  stop 
his  insane  project.  In  this  case  you  might  save  lives 
by  coming  here.  He  told  me  he  meant  to  take  a  look 
at  Harper's  Ferry  on  the  i6th.  You  might  see  him  if 
you  were  there,  or  could  easily  inquire  your  way  to 
this  farm-house.  But  unless  you  are  certain  of  such 
influence  over  him,  I  implore  you  do  not  be  misled 
into  joining  us.  We  are  doomed  men. — A  FRIEND. 

Stirling  resolved  to  try  and  stop  this  wild  business. 
He  would  secure  an  interview  with  Brown  in  some 
hotel  or  hostelry,  and  there  if  he  could  not  be  dis- 
suaded he  should  be  detained,  quietly.  But  there  was 
no  time  to  be  lost.  By  going  through  Cleveland  and 
Columbus  he  believed  he  could  just  make  Harper's 
Ferry  by  October  sixteenth.  He  traveled  night  and 
day. 

But  the  anonymous  correspondent  and  Brown  him- 
self had  not  rightly  indicated  the  time  when  the 
attack  was  made.  On  such  small  wires  hang  great 
weights.  Stirling  was  asleep  in  his  berth,  after  mid- 
night of  the  Sunday  he  had  hoped  to  pass  at  Harper's 
Ferry,  when  he  was  aroused  with  the  other  passengers 


332  1 INE  AND  PALM. 

by  a  loud  cry — "  Wake  up  !  wake  up  !  there's  trouble 
going  on  !  "  All  started  up  in  panic,  and  heard  with 
dismay  that  the  train  had  been  seized  by  robbers. 
The  bewildered  passengers  were  marched  off  under 
guards  to  a  railway  hotel.  There  they  were  told  that 
robbers  had  taken  possession  of  the  town.  While 
Stirling  was  making  inquiries  of  servants  in  the 
kitchen,  the  train  moved  off — about  sunrise.  He 
remained  a  prisoner  in  the  hotel  all  day,  but  felt  that 
perhaps  this  was  best,  for  he  had  now  little  doubt  that 
Captain  Brown  had  struck  his  blow.  On  the  morning 
of  the  day  following,  the  guards  having  disappeared 
from  the  hotel  doors,  he  walked  out  toward  the  armory. 
There  he  beheld  Captain  Brown  seated  on  the  ground, 
covered  with  blood,  with  several  officers  around  him, 
while  frantic  men  were  rushing  to  and  fro,  and  shots 
were  heard  in  every  direction.  Stirling  was  standing 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  and  when  Brown 
looked  toward  him,  incautiously  waved  his  hand  in 
token  of  recognition  and  pity.  The  next  moment  he 
was  struck  by  a  bullet  and  fell. 

"  You  are  shooting  your  own  citizens,"  cried  Brown, 
"that  man  is  not  with  me — he  is  a  Virginian." 

The  man  who  had  fired  on  Stirling  hurried  away. 
Brown  was  at  once  carried  off.  Stirling  lay  unno- 
ticed, and  gradually  recovered  sufficient  consciousness 
to  crawl  through  a  rude  gate  that  stood  open  in  pal- 
ings near  him,  and  to  close  it.  Beyond  this  was  a 
small  stable  which  he  managed  to  reach  and  enter. 
There  he  lay  on  straw  and  lost  consciousness  again. 
After  some  time  a  negro  brought  a  horse  into  the 
stable,  and  Stirling  was  aroused  as  if  from  sleep. 


INTO    THE  JA  WS  OF  DEA  TH.  333 

"  My  man/'  he  said  to  the  trembling  negro,  "  I  am 
shot  and  will  probably  die,  but  try  and  bring  me 
water." 

The  man  crept  softly  away  and  presently  returned 
with  water,  and  accompanied  by  another  negro.  "  He 
is  one  of  the  men  that  came  here  to  die  for  us,"  said 
one  of  the  negroes.  The  two  bore  him  to  a  vacant 
stall,  nearly  covered  him  with  hay,  and  placing  bread 
and  water  beside  him,  said  they  would  remove  him  as 
soon  as  it  could  be  done  without  their  being  observed. 
Then  Stirling  again  sank  into  unconsciousness. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  WANDERER'S  REST. 

"T7NCOURAGED,  as  we  have  seen,  by  Gisela, 
\2/  Wentworth  postponed  his  return  to  Virginia 
and  accepted  the  invitation  to  visit  the  Minotts, 
who  were  eager  to  hear  about  his  experiences  in 
the  South. 

One  morning,  while  they  were  lingering  at  the 
breakfast-table,  a  letter  was  opened  by  Judge  Minott 
which  extorted  from  him  a  cry  of  horror.  It  was  from 
a  negro  man,  and  rudely  written,  a  letter  from  Stirling 
being  inclosed.  This,  the  negro  wrote,  had  been 
found  in  the  pocket  of  a  gentleman  wounded  in  the 
fight  at  Harper's  Ferry,  and  now  lying  there  in  the 
house  of  a  free  negro.  He  seemed  to  be  nearly 
senseless.  "  We  are  doing  all  we  can  but  are  afraid 
to  say  any  thing  about  him  to  the  white  people,  who 
are  furious.  The  only  doctor  who  has  seen  him  is 
myself,  but  I  don't  know  much  about  a  thing  like  this, 
and  only  doctor  colored  people  in  little  things.  His 
wound  is  in  the  head,  and  I'm  afraid  he  won't  live. 
He  ought  to  have  help.  If  anybody  comes  after  him 
let  them  ask  the  sexton  of  the  Baptist  meeting-house. 
I  will  send  this  to  be  put  in  the  letter-box  at  Baltimore." 

The  letter  of  Stirling  inclosed  told  the  tragical 
story  of  his  wife's  death.  A  penciled  postcript  added  : 


THE    WANDERER'S  REST.  335 

"  Although  I  have  written  this  letter  I  dread  sending 
it.  I  am  now  on  a  train  bound  for  Harper's  Ferry, 
where  I  hope  to  prevent  the  fanatical  scheme  of  a 
good  but  misguided  abolitionist,  fraught  with  danger 
and  evil.  I  then  hope  to  reach  my  dear  old  home  in 
Virginia." 

The  first  southward  train  bore  Wentworth  and 
Dr.  Jeffries  Wyman.  Cautious  inquiries  at  Harper's 
Ferry  brought  them  by  midnight  to  the  bedside  of  the 
sufferer.  He  was  lying  in  the  best  room  of  the  free 
negro's  house,  where  his  constant  attendant  was  Alice 
Ross.  For  it  had  speedily  become  known  among  the 
colored  people  of  the  neighborhood  that  a  man 
wounded  in  the  John  Brown  fray  was  hidden  in  this 
house,  and  Alice  had  at  length  identified  him.  She 
lived  in  a  house  near  by,  where  Darnley  came  every 
evening. 

The  bullet  had  not  entered  the  brain,  but  had  plowed 
deep  and  driven  a  portion  of  the  skull  upon  it,  with 
what  extent  of  lesion  could  not  yet  be  known.  Tre- 
phining was  required,  and  having  removed  the  bits  of 
bone  pressed  into  the  brain,  the  surgeon  could  do 
no  more.  Before  leaving  he  went  with  Wentworth  to 
a  physician  connected  with  the  United  States  service, 
who  agreed  to  take  charge  of  the  case,  evidence  being 
given  that  Stirling  was  a  Virginian  who  had  come  to 
prevent  the  Brown  raid.  They  all  agreed,  neverthe- 
less, that  secrecy  was  desirable  on  account  of  the 
prevailing  excitement. 

Meanwhile  that  negro-telegraph,  which  we  have 
once  before  known  in  operation  between  Harper's 
Ferry  and  The  Palms,  had  borne  the  tidings  to 


336  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Gisela.  Her  father  had  just  gone  on  circuit,  so  she 
could  easily  leave,  and  was  soon  on  her  way  to 
Harper's  Ferry.  She  was  there  guided  by  a  friend  of 
Caleb  Stone  to  the  house  where  her  brother  lay. 
Into  an  inner  room  she  passed  without  knocking,  and 
found  there  a  young  man,  whom  she  supposed  to  be  a 
physician,  and  a  colored  woman,  who  was  kneeling  at 
the  foot  of  the  cot.  Gisela's  step  was  so  soft  that  the 
woman  did  not  raise  her  head.  At  a  low  moan  from 
the  sufferer,  Alice  Ross,  for  it  was  she,  lifted  her  face 
and  saw  her  beloved  friend  seated  beside  the  bed. 

"  I  have  prayed  for  you  and  you  have  come,"  she 
said,  coming  close  to  Gisela.  "  Master  has  gone  for 
medicine  but  will  soon  be  here.  This  gentleman  has 
just  arrived." 

Gisela  looked  upon  the  wasted  form  of  her  brother, 
then  closed  her  eyes  for  a  few  moments.  Presently 
she  glanced  at  the  stranger  with  an  expression  of 
inquiry,  and  he  came  forward  to  whisper  the  explana- 
tion of  his  presence. 

"  You  are  a  near  acquaintance  of  his  ? "  he  said. 

"  I  am  his  sister." 

"  I  come  from  her  he  lifted  out  of  grief." 

"  From  his  wife  ?  " 

"Ah,  you  do  not  know — his  wife  is  dead." 

"  Heavens  !  Oh,  Ran,  my  poor  brother,  what  have 
you  been  suffering,  all  alone — your  sister  so  far 
away  !  " 

"  My  name  is  Hartmann,"  said  the  stranger,  when 
the  inquiring  eyes  were  again  turned  on  him  ;  "  she 
was  helped  by  him  in  need  who  is  now  my  wife.  I 
am  here  to  help." 


THE    WANDERER'S  REST.  337 

When  Wentworth  and  Gisela  presently  met  they 
felt  less  surprise  than  might  have  been  expected, 
neither  having  heard  from  the  other  since  Stirling 
was  wounded.  How  could  either  be  absent  at  such 
a  time  ?  The  negro  who  owned  the  house  now  gave 
it  up  to  the  friends  of  the  wounded  man.  Gisela, 
Wentworth,  and  Hartmann  took  up  their  abode  in  it, 
Alice  Darnley  preparing  their  food  in  her  house  near 
by.  Thus  they  entered  upon  their  sorrowful  watch. 
Franz  was  unwearied  in  his  services,  and  seemed  none 
the  less  fresh  for  sitting  up  all  night.  Franz  told 
them  of  Stirling's  adventures  at  Spindleton  and 
Peacefield,  as  Frau  Hartmann  had  related  them  ;  and 
the  evenings  he  beguiled  from  some  of  their  heavi- 
ness with  the  romance  of  his  own  life.  Gisela  did 
not  fail  to  write  to  Mathilde  of  her  husband's  devoted 
services  to  them,  and  of  their  attachment  to  him. 

The  physician  did  not  appear  hopeful.  The  patient's 
eyes,  even  when  open,  gave  no  sign  of  recognition, 
and  though  he  sometimes  muttered  words  they  could 
not  be  understood.  The  symptoms  indicated  a  severe 
lesion,  attention  to  which  had  been  too  long  delayed, 
and  when  at  length  a  crisis  was  foreseen  it  was 
with  apprehension.  During  one  day  he  had  been 
especially  restless,  and  had  made  repeated  efforts  to 
speak.  The  doctor  then  resolved  to  pass  the  night 
at  the  bedside.  There  was  nothing  that  the  watchers 
could  do  but  sit  with  folded  hands,  their  hearts  filled 
with  forebodings,  while  the  sufferer  tossed  feverishly 
on  his  cot.  A  little  before  daybreak  he  uttered  some 
words  and  the  physician  drew  close  to  listen,  the  oth- 
ers standing  around  the  bed.  A  little  later  his  eyes 


33$  PINE  AND  PALM. 

were  fixed  on  Franz  who  was  at  the  foot  of  his  bed, 
and  a  few  feeble  words  came, — "  Nuella,  you  have 
come  ...  I  am  glad  you  have  come  ...  I 
thought  you  would  not  leave  me." 

"  Wandering  still,"  said  the  doctor,  "  we  must  be 
prepared  for  the — ah  !  " 

"  No  ...  It  is  not  Nuella  ...  I  saw  her 
die."  His  eyes  closed,  and  tears  fell  on  his  cheeks. 

"Who  is  this  he  speaks  of?"  askjd  the  doctor 
quickly. 

"  His  wife,  Nuella,  lately  dead." 

"Then  if  he  can  rally,  I  believe  he  is  saved." 

The  doctor  waved  them  all  out  of  the  room.  The 
greatest  caution  had  to  be  taken  that  the  patient 
should  have  as  little  emotional  agitation  as  possible. 
But  the  improvement  was  maintained,  and  one  after 
the  other  Gisela  and  Wentworth  were  allowed  to 
greet  him.  Stirling's  first  smile  answered  the  infor- 
mation that  his  sister  and  friend  were  betrothed. 

"  I  thought  I  could  never  again  be  happy,  but 
all  is  not  lost/'  he  said. 

"Right,  Ran,"  said  Gisela— "don't  lose  courage. 
Soon  you  will  be  at  home  again.  Your  suffering 
in  trying  to  save  others,  will  make  father  feel 
prouder  of  you  than  ever." 

"  Ought  you  not  to  be  with  him  ? " 

"  Yes,  Ran,  he  will  soon  return  from  circuit,  and  I 
must  be  there,  but  Walter  will  remain,  and  this 
kind  gentleman  who  has  come  to  assist  us." 

"  Why  !  "  exclaimed  Stirling,  as  Hartmann  came 
forward.  "  It  is  my  comrade  Franz.  Have  you  come 
all  this  way  for  me  ?  " 


THE    WANDERER'S  REST.  339 

"  Miss  Hilda  and  my  Mathilde  can  not  rest,  mein 
Herr,  while  you  were  in  trouble.  At  their  home  they 
some  time  looked  for  you,  but  always  you  did  not 
come,  and  Miss  Hilda  from  the  frau  richterrin  Minott 
got  the  schrecklich  news.  I  must  be  here.  Daily  I 
send  them  one  telegraphisch  word.  First  it  was, 
*  alas.'  Forgestern  it  was,  '  hope.'  To-day  it  was, '  joy.' 
Their  eyes  will  drip  with  much  fun.  When  you  may 
travel,  at  Peacefield  Pines  find  you  your  welcome." 

"  When  you  return,"  said  Gisela  to  Franz,  laying 
her  arm  on  the  pillow  around  her  brother's  head, 
"carry  to  those  kind  ladies  our  love,  but  say  that 
his  first  welcome  will  be  in  his  father's  house." 

After  Stirling's  severe  trials  and  disappointments, 
it  is  satisfactory  to  record  the  fulfillment  of  one  of  his 
hopes  :  he  passed  his  Christmas  at  The  Palms.  It  was 
some  weeks  more  before  he  could  be  removed  even 
by  stages,  but  at  last  the  wanderer  returned  to  his 
father's  house  and  embrace.  What  Christmas  tales 
were  told,  day  and  night,  to  beguile  him  from  sorrow- 
ful memories — tales  of  Leroy  Island,  of  Wentworth's 
man-and-woman  purchases,  of  the  Tournament,  and 
Sir  Walter's  combat  with  Ivanhoe  ;  also  a  sweet  love- 
tale  ;  and  the  story  of  one  securing  the  interests 
of  his  distant  friend  by  his  first  law-case. 

Before  the  year  was  out,  Stirling  also  did  a  bit  of 
professional  work.  Manuel  and  Ruth  had  several 
times  written  to  him — Colonel  Rhodes,  also,  who  told 
him  that  poor  Layman  perished  at  Harper's  Ferry. 
One  of  these  letters  contained  a  copy  of  Nuella's  will. 
She  had  bequeathed  her  farm  and  homestead  to  her 
husband  ;  if  he  should  not  survive  her,  it  should  go  to 


340  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Ruth.  To  Ruth  was  at  once  transferred  the  set- 
tlement, and  she  went  to  live  on  it  after  her  marriage 
with  Rev.  Arthur  Farwell,  Mr.  Grace's  successor. 

But  Wentworth  and  Stirling,  as  partners,  argued 
their  first  case  in  the  library  at  The  Palms.  A  judg- 
ment at  once  paternal  and  judicial  had  to  be  given 
on  the  conduct  of  Randolph  in  the  fugitive-slave 
cases,  at  Peacefield  and  in  Kansas.  After  it  had  been 
argued  by  the  young  men,  the  case  was  after  all 
gained  by  Gisela  who,  in  a  Portia-like  argument, 
pleaded  that  in  such  situation — a  human  being  flying 
from  a  cruel  master — the  master  must  be  held  tech- 
nically to  his  pound  of  flesh.  The  fugitives  helped 
by  Randolph  were  not  covered  by  legal  process  ;  he 
could  not  assume  that  they  were  slaves  at  all ;  and  so 
forth.  The  judge  might  have  sifted  these  positions 
somewhat  more  severely,  had  it  not  been  for  a  very 
serious  event  that  happened  about  that  time  in  his 
personal  affairs.  It  was,  indeed,  an  event  that  placed 
him  in  a  situation  not  unlike  that  of  his  son. 

Judge  Stirling's  legal  career  had  from  the  first  been 
singular.  He  had  resolutely  declined  cases  in  whose 
justice  he  did  not  strictly  believe.  Lawyers  laughed 
at  the  youth,  and  predicted  that  he  would  soon  out- 
grow his  scrupulosity  ;  but  he  did  not ;  and  then 
friends  remonstrated,  for  he  was  known  to  be  refusing 
large  retainers.  But  the  young  lawyer  adhered  to  his 
principle,  and  in  the  end  gained  such  a  hold  on  the 
confidence  of  jurors  and  judges  that  his  mere  appear- 
ance in  a  case  was  almost  equivalent  to  its  being  won. 
The  common  run  of  lawyers  could  not  stand  against 
his  moral  and  intellectual  power  combined,  and  had 


THE    WANDERERS  REST.  34* 

him  put  on  the  bench  to  get  him  away  from  the  bar, 
On  the  bench  judge  Stirling's  reputation  for  integrity 
and  learning  spread  beyond  his  own  circuit  ;  and  ori 
the  day  before  this  memorable  Christmas,  he  received 
an  appointment  to  the  Court  of  Appeals.  High  as  the 
honor  was,  the  judge  had  taken  it  under  considera- 
tion, for  he  was  getting  on  in  years,  and  he  did  not 
like  the  prospect  of  passing  so  much  of  his  time  in 
Richmond.  But,  before  the  time  requested  for 
advisement  had  elapsed,  he  had  to  decide  a  case  con- 
cerning which  pro-slavery  feeling  was  much  excited. 
A  hundred  slaves  gained  freedom  by  the  decision. 
The  family  interested  was  influential,  the  agitation 
attending  the  raid  and  execution  of  John  Brown  had 
not  yet  subsided,  and  the  manumission  of  these 
slaves  caused  so  much  feeling  against  Judge  Stirling 
that  his  appointment  to  the  Court  of  Appeals  was 
revoked.  The  probabilities  were  already  against  his 
acceptance  of  the  unsought  honor  ;  but  this  incident 
struck  deep  in  the  judge's  mind.  For  the  first  time 
he  awakened  to  the  fact  that  he  had  fallen  upon  a 
new  generation.  The  day  he  well  remembered,  when 
his  relative  Judge  Leigh  had  formally  renounced  his 
vast  bequest  under  John  Randolph's  last  will,  in  order 
to  overthrow  it  in  favor  of  another,  written  in  sound 
mind,  liberating  the  Randolph  slaves.  That  day  was 
gone.  The  Old  Dominion  had  fallen  under  control 
of  smaller  men.  The  judge  concluded  that  the  new 
elements  by  which  they  were  surrounded  were  not 
much  more  congenial  to  himself  than  to  his  son  Ran- 
dolph ;  and  one  morning  he  surprised  his  family  by 
announcing  his  retirement  from  the  bench  altogether. 


342  PINE  AND  PALM. 

The  judge's  resolution  was  received  by  his  children 
with  sympathetic  expressions,  with  indignation  at  the 
causes  which  had  led  to  it,  but  not  with  exclamations 
of  regret.  When  he  had  spoken,  quick  glances  were 
exchanged  across  the  table,  and  eyes  grew  brighter. 
A  curtain  that  had  long  hung  motionless  before  a 
future  of  happy  scenes,  now  visibly  swayed  and  might 
possibly — even  probably — rise. 

From  this  time  Gisela,  Wentworth,  and  Randolph 
held  daily  and  prolonged  consultations,  and  in  the 
end  brought  before  the  judge  certain  revolutionary 
proposals.  The  Palms  to  be  let,  after  the  celebration 
therein  of  a  marriage  ;  the  family  to  reside  together 
in  Washington  ;  an  office  there  to  bear  on  its  door  the 
words,  "  Stirling  &  Wentworth,  Attorneys  at  Law." 

"  I  thought,"  said  the  judge,  "  that  I  had  retired 
from  the  bench,  but  you  have  brought  me  the 
heaviest  docket  I  ever  had  to  deal  with  in  my  life  ; 
and  you  must  not  be  surprised  if  judgments  are 
reserved  for  a  considerable  time." 

One  case  in  this  last  calendar  of  the  judge  was 
adjudicated  very  soon.  He  desired  that  the  marriage 
should  not  be  delayed.  That  step  taken,  more  light 
might  rise  on  the  next.  So  it  came  that  the  first 
warm  breath  of  spring  clothed  The  Palms  with  rare 
and  wondrous  blossomings.  It  was  Gisela's  choice, 
somewhat  to  the  surprise  of  the  others,  that  this  wed- 
ding should  be  translated  from  a  fairy-tale.  Whether 
it  was  that  she  desired  all  neighbors  to  know  that  they 
of  The  Palms  bore  no  grudge  for  bygones,  nor  were 
any  whit  less  happy  for  provincial  inappreciation  of 
the  Three  Greatest  Men  on  Earth  ;  or  whether  her 


THE    WANDERER'S  REST.  343 

historic  sense  required  that  the  last  festival  of  the 
Stirlings  in  their  old  mansion  should  be  the  culmina- 
tion of  its  traditional  hospitalities  ;  so  it  was,  that  no 
care  or  cost  was  spared  in  the  preparations  for  this 
wedding.  Its  magnificence  now  belongs  to  the  folk- 
lore of  Fauquier.  Mammas  whose  hearts  are  yet  ruddy, 
though  their  heads  may  be  a  little  white,  still  tell 
their  daughters  of  that  enchanted  day  when  the  mock- 
ing-bird's magical  music,  and  eye-chimes  of  the 
gopher  and  the  Judas-tree,  led  on  to  a  warm  full 
moon,  and  lawns  aglow  with  colored  lights,  amid 
which  Gisela  moved  as  a  goddess,  loves  and  graces 
dancing  around  her  and  her  happy  bridegroom  through 
the  charmed  night,  while  the  baronial  banquet  ceased 
not  till  sunrise.  (For  some  phrases  in  this  last  sen- 
tence the  author  acknowledges  his  indebtedness  to 
certain  "  Lines  on  a  Scene  at  The  Palms,"  which 
appeared  in  "  The  Flag  of  '98  "  just  after  the  wed- 
ding.) 


CHAPTER  XXXL 

FLOWER    O*    THE    PINE    AND    PALM. 

CATS  cling  to  houses,  dogs  to  their  inmates.  Like 
man's  faithful  friend,  our  interest  will  follow  those 
who  have  founded  their  new  home  in  Washington. 
Twenty-seven  years  ago  a  picturesque  old  mansion  on 
Capitol  Hill  was  still  defending  its  .acre  of  homestead 
from  siege  of  brick  and  mortar  ;  and  though,  to-day, 
the  inclosure  contains  a  villa  residence,  also  a  two- 
storeyed  office  between  that  and  the  old  mansion, 
these  buildings  represent  some  years'  history  of 
friendly  invaders  from  The  Pines  and  The  Palms, 
who  have  brought  these  names  with  them. 

The  office  of  the  young  law-partners  in  Indiana 
Avenue  soon  became  a  center  of  prosperous  business. 
The  only  anxiety  of  the  family  now  was  about  Ran- 
dolph, who  could  not  easily  recover  from  the  effects 
of  his  tragical  experiences.  He  worked  with  painful 
eagerness,  and  even  the  inexhaustible  wit  of  Pen  won 
but  faint  smiles  to  his  face.  An  occasional  cough 
caught  the  quick  ear  of  Gisela.  She  remembered  a 
tradition  that  some  great-grand-uncle  Randolph  had 
died  of  consumption,  and  poor  Ran  had  to  make  the 
acquaintance- of  cod-liver  oil.  One  day  Wentworth 
suggested  that  they  should  fulfill  their  college  dream 
of  a  tour  in  Europe,  but  Randolph  said  he  desired 
nothing  so  much  as  constant  occupation. 


FLOWER   a    THE  PINE  AttD  PALM.         345 

"I'm  going  on  a  little  journey  in  the  opposite 
direction,"  he  added.  Two  weeks  later  he  sat  beneath 
the  oak  in  Iowa,  where  he  last  looked  on  the  face  of 
Nuella,  while  a  workman  was  setting  a  marble  memo- 
rial on  her  grave. 

But  it  pleased  dame  Clotho  to  knit  again  the  thread 
she  once  began  spinning  at  Peacefield,  which  was  so 
rudely  cut  by  her  sister  Atropos.  On  a  May  after- 
noon, Randolph,  just  from  the  West,  was  walking 
through  the  Capitol  grounds,  his  eyes  bent  on  the 
earth,  when  he  came  close  on  an  old  friend,  moving 
listlessly  before  him,  with  eyes  following  the  birds,  or 
perhaps  the  cloudlets. 

"  Hilda  Leigh  !  "  burst  from  his  lips. 

Hilda  seemed  to  wake  up  at  sound  of  her  name,  and 
her  face  was  filled  with  glad  surprise.  Her  father, 
summoned  to  Washington  by  the  government  for  con- 
sultation on  a  financial  scheme,  was  then  in  the  capi- 
tol,  and  she  had  accepted  the  invitation  of  Spring  for  a 
stroll.  Randolph  heard  all  about  their  ideal  lovers,  the 
Hartmanns — now  officially  established  on  the  Leigh 
estate,  the  happiest  herr  and  frau  in  Peacefield.  Even 
Hilda's  eyes  betrayed  some  curiosity  on  learning  that 
she  was  only  a  few  hundred  yards  from  Gisela  and 
other  members  of  a  family  whose  wraiths  had  some- 
times flitted  about  the  Peacefield  grove.  Reciprocal 
informations  past,  there  ensued  a  pleasant  silence,  at 
length  broken  by  Hilda. 

"  Mr.  Stirling,  we  are  waiting  for  your  promised 
return  to  Peacefield." 

The  half-closed  eyes  were  on  him  once  more  ;  the 
face  that  had  appeared  in  vision,  hovering  near  him 


346  PINE  AND  PALM. 

in  hours  of  anxiety  and  anguish,  was  again  before  him 
—beaming  from  its  heaven  of  repose.  The  leaden 
cloud  which  no  zephyr,  no  bloom,  no  roundelay  of  the 
Spring,  could  lift  from  his  heart,  now  waned  and 
receded  before  visible  harmony,  which  carried  all  sub- 
tle-sweet meanings  of  zephyr,  bloom  and  song.  Had 
Randolph  replied  to  her  last  remark  with  what  floated 
through  his  mind,  he  might  have  startled  this  serenest 
of  maidens  out  of  her  Nirvana  of  unconsciousness. 
He  walked  on  in  smiling  but  silent  reverie. 

"  When  is  it  to  be,  Mr.  Stirling  ?  " 

"  Do  you  know,  Miss  Hilda,  that  if  you  keep  on,  I 
shall  go  ? " 

"  When  is  it  to  be,  Mr.  Stirling  ?" 

"  When  you  return." 

"  The  first  of  June." 

Mr.  Derby  Leigh  discovered  that  his  daughter  was 
a  rather  perilous  person  to  introduce  to  Washington 
society.  She  had  not  the  remotest  consciousness  of 
her  peculiar  charm.  On  the  bachelor  congressmen, 
and  others  who  buzzed  around  this  beauty  of  unfamil- 
iar type,  Hilda's  glowing  nature  shone  with  such  equal 
uninquiring  warmth  that  each  was  in  danger  of  feeling 
himself  the  immediate  jewel  of  her  soul.  She  was 
so  unconscious  of  the  spell  she  was  weaving  around 
Randolph  that  she  was  ready  to  accept  Gisela's  invita- 
tion to  stay  with  her.  Mr.  Derby  Leigh,  however,  had 
read  his  young  friend's  face,  and  said  he  could  not 
leave  his  hotel,  and  he  could  not  spare  Hilda.  But 
she  saw  a  good  deal  of  the  Stirlings  and  Wentworths, 
and  they  contributed  much  to  the  pleasure  of  her 
month  in  Washington.  When  her  mother  sent  her  a 


FLOWER  0*    THE  PINE  AND  PALM.         347 

paragraph  from  a  Peacefield  paper  saying  she  was  the 
"belle"  of  Washington  just  then,  Hilda  only  said 
"  how  silly,"  but  she  was  glad  when  the  time  came  to 
return  to  The  Pines. 

And  there,  sure  enough,  Randolph  again  walked 
with  her  in  the  grove, — in  growing  forgetfulness  of 
the  cruel  winter  that  lay  between  the  Indian  summer 
of  their  parting  and  this  June,  flowering  beyond  all 
Junes  since  creation.  Mr.  Leigh  introduced  him  to 
the  old  romance  of  Peacefield,  to  haunts  of  famous 
witches  and  gabled  homes  of  ancient  gentry  ;  Hilda 
made  him  acquainted  with  the  several  pines,  their 
needles,  the  varied  wild-flowers,  the  choir  of  birds 
and  their  vestments.  Stirling  saw  all  these  as  root, 
stem,  leaf,  leading  to  one  immortal  flower.  Droll  that 
he  should  have  groped  about  to  explore  New  En- 
gland, when  all  its  history,  meaning,  genius,  were  gath- 
ered up  in  this  one  product — Hilda.  Gradually  there 
was  formed  in  the  mind  of  this  Virginian  an  oration 
which  would  have  thrilled  Dane  Hall,  but  there  was  no 
audience  for  it  here,  unless  he  should  utter  it  to  all 
New  England  as  represented  in  Hilda  amid  the  pines. 
One  afternoon,  indeed,  the  new  inspiration  did  break 
forth,  but  poured  itself  in  one  word. 

"Hilda!" 

She  stood  still,  but  no  other  word  followed  :  this 
one  soft  plaintive  cry  out  of  a  heart  longing  to  recover 
its  early  dream,  two  hands  stretched  out  to  her  for 
rescue, — this  was  what  Hilda  heard  and  saw  in  that 
solitude.  Her  hands  met  Randolph's  silently  ;  where 
her  heart  had  gone  her  life  followed. 


348  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Some  twenty  years  ago,  the  Wentworths,  leaving 
their  little  Pen  with  her  Auntie  Pen  (Mrs.  Basil  Stirling) 
at  The  Palms,  Warrenton,  visited  the  Leroys  and  Rev. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  (Eleanor  Ravenel)  Stringfield  in  South 
Carolina.  On  their  return  they  brought  two  selectest 
palmettos,  (one  presented  by  Mrs.  Bertha  Ravenel, 
and  the  other  by  Mrs.  Charlotte  Leroy),  which, 
in  warm  season,  stand  at  their  door  on  Capitol 
Hill  to  justify  the  name  of  their  house.  Hilda, 
not  to  be  out-done,  has  two  evergreens  from  Peace- 
field  for  sentinels  at  The  Pines.  The  gardens  are 
the  realm  of  Wesley  Hampton,  who  found  out  his 
master  and  demanded  the  right  to  serve  out  the  time 
between  his  flight  from  Savannah  and  the  proclama- 
tion of  emancipation,  and  remains  as  master  of  most 
people  about  the  place.  Under  his  especial  sway  are 
two  venerable  widowers,  Judge  Stirling  and  Derby 
Leigh,  who,  in  the  home  built  for  them,  are  sometimes 
visited  by  their  old  friend  Minott.  The  three  vener- 
able heads,  crowned  with  white  blossoms,  laugh 
together  as  they  see  clouds  that  once  covered 
them  floating  as  tinted  islets  in  their  evening  sky. 
The  last  time  Judge  Minott— dreamer  to  the  last 
— parted  from  his  old  friends,  he  paused  to  observe 
Gisela's  palms  and  Hilda's  pines  :  as  he  looked  the 
small  trees  climbed  high,  and  intertwined  their 
branches  ;  and  through  their  green  arch  shone  a  fair 
vista,-— northward,  southward. 

THE   END. 


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